


The Grand Cause

by Inkaley



Series: The Grand Cause [1]
Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Falling In Love, Family, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Mild Gore, POV First Person, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:33:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkaley/pseuds/Inkaley
Summary: Manipulating Troy seems so easy with Madison doing it. But Nick can't depend on her always being around, so he decides to do a little manipulating of his own. Of course, he can't play the mother card with Troy, and with Jake around, the brother role is already taken, too. There is however one other kind of relationship Troy seems to lack in his life... So when a new threat decends upon the ranch, Nick comes up with the perfect plan - until things get complicated.Nick/Troy get-together; follows season 3a, evolves independently of 3b.





	1. Two Monsters

_He’s going to kill me._

It’s the first clear thought that comes to my mind when the world around me goes upside down. A sharp pain ripples from the side of my head throughout my entire body, then my back hits the hard, rocky ground. The impact knocks the wind out of my lungs. I’m gasping for air, but his hands have already found my throat.

He doesn’t have to say anything, I know what this is about. I can read it in his face, menacing, twisted with fury and hate, his eyes, wide and glaring with scorn and pain. His eyes know the truth. They’re screaming at me, _You killed my father!_

Unable to breathe, I’m fighting to get a grip of his wrists to free my throat, panic starting to take control of my body. I’m kicking and wriggling underneath him, but he’s pushing me to the ground with all his weight.

I want to scream, scream for help, but I’m already starting to feel so light-headed, my mind slowly drifting into unconsciousness.

He towers over me, a dark silhouette against the setting sun in his back.

My hands grow limp. I’m trying to fight it, but my grip on his wrists loosens. I know, once I let go, my fate is sealed. After all the pain and hardship I’ve been through, this is going to be my end? Not torn apart and eaten alive by some blood-thirsty walker, but strangled by another human being out of revenge for a murder I committed to save my mom as well as the many – including him.

_No, I don’t want that… I don’t… want to die… Not like this. Not at all._

But there’s nothing I can do about it.

As my mind’s slipping towards oblivion, the last thought that occupies my mind is _How on Earth did he find out?_ There’s only one person that knew about my crime… But it couldn’t be… It cannot be…

Out of nowhere, two hands emerge from behind him, and by some miracle, Troy is yanked off me.

Immediately, I roll over to my side, trying to take in as much air as I possibly can, but my throat still feels blocked, so I end up coughing uncontrollably.

Someone touches my shoulder, asking me if I’m alright, but as I raise my eyes, I see my mom and Jake struggling to keep Troy off me, appealing to him, begging him to calm down.

But in the end, the only thing that helps to make him stop is Jake landing the ten thousand dollar punch right below Troy’s right eye – his Achilles’ heel, ever since my mom plunged a spoon in it fighting him the very first time we met.

He draws back immediately, giving a wince of pain like a wounded animal, hand shieling his eye from any further hits. One-eyed, he glares past the two people protecting me, giving me a long, piercing look that sends shivers down my spine.

_He’s going to kill me,_ I realize once more, _and he won’t rest until he succeeds._

Then he turns away and takes off into the dusky twilight.

“I’ll talk to him,” Jake announces, sharing a look with my mom before going after him.

She then turns to me, a look of worry and guilt on her face. It’s obvious what’s going through her head. _It should have been me. I should have been the one to kill Jeremiah Otto. Then Troy would be thirsting for my blood now, not yours._

“I wanted it that way,” I answer her unspoken thoughts, voice still raspy.

She wordlessly comes over to me, crouches down by my side and pulls me into a long, heartfelt embrace. “And still,” she insists, then the last beams of sunlight vanish on the horizon.

 

***

 

I have no idea what Jake said to his brother, but at least for the next couple of days Troy doesn’t come after me again. We all agreed it would be best for me to take a break from being part of the militia for the time being, to not trigger any more contact points between him and me than is absolutely necessary.

Had I been reluctant to join the militia in the first place, now without it, my days here at the ranch seem strangely purposeless and empty. I take up rebuilding my little cottage at the edge of the ranch once again, but soon all the roof beams are back in place, the shingles fixed and the walls plastered. With a tiny one-room house like that, the maximum amount of effort you can put into is eventually limited.

So when I hear about the planned supply run that’s open for any member of the ranch, I’m among the first ones to volunteer. Apparently, some of the militia scouts have discovered a camping site that hasn’t been raided yet a few hundred miles away, and it seems like the perfect opportunity to stock up on canned food, toiletries and anything else that can be put to good use.

Naturally, as leader of the militia, Troy’s in charge of this mission, but since half the ranch is tagging along, I’m just one of many faces on the pick-ups we leave the ranch with in the early afternoon.

Since Jake and Alicia have decided to join as well, I’m naturally sharing a car with them. It’s always nicer to spend a three hours ride with people you know than with total strangers. Not that I know Jake particularly well. But compared to Troy, he’s definitely the “good” brother. And Alicia’s fallen in love with him, so there’s his credit of trust.

In contrast to Troy, Jake doesn’t force any eardrum-shattering music on us, so we all sit there in silence for the longest time, with Alicia occasionally asking Jake questions about the route we’re taking or the area in general, while I keep my eyes on the sunny fall landscape.

It’s been a while since the last time I’ve been on a car ride this long, and it reminds me of all the times our parents took us to this vacation house by the sea when Alicia and I were still little. It’s not like this idyll had only been destroyed once the apocalypse hit. I’m aware of that. But right now in this moment, it seems longer ago than ever before, like some distant memory that may not even be my own, but rather nothing but a story I’ve heard from someone else.

Eventually, the trucks pull off the main road and a few minutes later come to a stop at the abandoned camping site.

“That’s it?” Alicia asks, shifting in the passenger seat to get a better look.

“I guess so,” comes Jake’s reply as he parks the pick-up next to the others.

“It’s huge,” I notice with surprise. “How come no one has found this place yet?”

Alicia meets my eyes in the rear mirror. “I get the feeling we won’t like the answer.”

“Or maybe just for once we’re actually lucky,” Jake says, but his voice betrays the fact he’s not really believing it himself. He turns to Alicia and me, looking at us both intensely, then adds with a serious voice, “At the slightest hint of trouble, we’re meeting up again right here at the car.”

“’Kay,” I nod and Alicia also confirms with a “Got it”, as we all get out of the car and start unloading the empty boxes and rucksacks we’ve brought along.

Troy then gathers everyone to give instructions from the loading area of one of the trucks. Even as he lets his eyes roam across our group, they never stop on me, so either he hasn’t noticed I’ve come along, or – maybe even better – he doesn’t care.

There’s no time to think about that any longer, since a few moments later, we all start spreading out over the camping site. The militia, the only ones equipped with guns, are acting as our advance parties – clearing tents and trailers of occasional walkers that have been trapped there, so we can safely go through trunks and shelves to bag the supplies.

The site is huge indeed and even though our raid is extremely successful, it takes a lot longer than expected. So once night falls, flashlights are handed out, to make sure we can get the rest of the supplies and then return home.

I’m especially thrilled, since in addition to all this excellent stuff I’ve secured for the ranch, I’ve also come across a small battery-operated camp stove that will fit perfectly for my cottage as well as two sealed packages of Twix chocolate bars, which I’ve been absolutely crazy about as a kid.

My rucksack’s already full once again, when I enter one final tent to take a look around. A few good packages of noodles, nice. I stuff as much of them into my rucksack as possible, the rest I’ll carry in my arms. That’s when all of a sudden, gunshots boom through the night, and I wince so hard I drop some of the packages. Never mind! Hastily throwing away the rest of them as well, I reemerge from the tent, take a look around me. But at that point, the catastrophe is already in full swing.

The raspy groaning of walkers is everywhere. Hordes of them suddenly appearing everywhere between the tents and trailers. I hold my breath, shoot my flashlight back and forth to look for a way to get back to the trucks. I spot people running ahead of me, some even trying to fight back the crowd with knives.

Alicia! Where’s my sister?! Mindlessly, I’m about to call her, but that would only draw the walkers closer to me.

Suddenly, a grip at my arm. I spin round, only barely deflecting the teeth of the dead man that seemed to have appeared right next to me out of nowhere. Instinctively, I shove my entire rucksack in his face, making him tumble backwards into the tent. Without wasting another second I take off, half running, half stumbling in the general direction of our trucks – but the camping site is a maze, and the narrow paths between the trailers make it nearly impossible to spot a walker before literally bumping into them.

The gunshots return, and this time it’s several guns firing, and all I can think of is _Please, oh please, let Alicia be okay_. From afar, I can now hear voices and screams mixing with running engines – I need to get there as fast as possible. For a second I stop, uncertain which way I should take, as suddenly with horror I realize the dead are _everywhere_. I’m surrounded. Where the hell did they come from? Had they been trapped here somewhere and one of us accidentally set them free? Have other raiders been aware of this threat and therefore steered clear of this place all this time?

Heart beating fast, I draw my knife, then at least once I risk calling my sister’s name after all. Immediately, the walkers roaming the alleys nearby turn their heads towards me, several of them not wasting a second and starting to shuffle towards me. Baring their teeth, greedily reaching for me with their hands, they draw closer, and I back away step by step.

“Nick!” Suddenly, Alicia’s voice coming from afar.

I spot her on top of one of our trucks, waving her hands to catch my attention. Thank God she’s alright!

Then suddenly the waving stops, and her voice turns into a shriek. “Watch out!”

At the last second I manage to duck away under some walker’s greedy hands, slicing their guts with my knife. It’s a woman, and she falls to her knees immediately.

I don’t have time to waste. Immediately, I jump over her, kicking her head in the process, then take off down the path she’d been blocking, evading hands reaching for me left and right.

I reach another crossroads seconds later, but here the entire place is run over by walkers. Groaning, they start heading for me, now from every direction, and I know I’m gonna die here if I don’t come up with an idea soon. Fighting such a huge crowd with just my little knife is not an option.

So I draw back as far as I can, and eventually _up_ may be the only choice I have left.  Slashing at everything that comes close, I turn around and jump, trying to get a hold of the tiny rail that runs along the roof of the trailer in my back. I actually manage to grab it, but I can’t put my feet anywhere to push myself up, and as I dangle there, kicking helplessly, I feel cold hands wrapping around my legs.

“Damn it!” I hiss, panicking, but then suddenly my left foot connects with a tiny ledge on the trailer wall after all. I want to push myself up, but the walkers don’t let go of my legs, pulling me down again. My fingers start losing their grip around the rail.

Right at that moment, someone’s reaching down from the roof of the trailer, grabbing the fabric of my jacket, pulling. I try to swing my leg on the roof, one try, a second try, then I manage. The walkers keep clinging to my other leg, struggling to get at least one tiny bite of delicious human calf, but in the end my shoe gives in, slipping off my foot and that’s as much of a souvenir they get from Nick Clark.

Panting, I try to push myself up, now for the first time getting a look at my unexpected savior. That however freezes the blood in my veins. Of all the people that came here on this mission, the one who saved me was Troy Otto.

Crestfallen, I close my eyes. What a cruel twist of fate. First, it gives me hope by having me saved from a certain death last-minute, then it pushes me out of the frying pan and into the fire, right into the hands of the one person who wants to see me dead more than anything.

“That was close,” Troy says emotionlessly, looking down at me. “I didn’t even know you’d joined the mission. Thought you were still busy putting up curtains in your sweet little house.”

“Troy!” A voice reaches us from afar. Jake’s. “You alright?!” Apparently everyone’s worried about their siblings.

He lets me be and turns around, taking a few steps to the other side of the trailer’s roof. “I’m fine,” he yells back. “What about you?”

“Have you seen Nick?” That’s Alicia’s voice, she sounds distraught.

“He’s here with me,” Troy shouts. “They can’t reach us up here. We’re safe for now.”

“Nick, are you there?” Alicia continues. “Are you safe?”

For a second I waver, getting back on my feet.

Troy looks at me over his shoulder. “She doesn’t trust me,” he informs me.

I take a few steps towards the edge of the roof as well, then hold my hand up high. “I’m here, Alicia. I’m fine.”

In the darkness, she’s shining her spotlight towards us. I can see her long, wavy hair faintly illuminated in the moonlight. Jake’s standing on the truck right next to her, as well as two of Troy’s men – Mick and Ray, if I recall correctly (the latter one clearly discernable by his ridiculously perfect haircut) – both holding heavy rifles, so at least that puts my mind at ease, seeing that Alicia and the others are safe with the rest of the militia.

“Can you come over?” Alicia yells, putting her hands around her mouth to make her voice sound louder.

“Don’t think so…” I call back. “We’re pretty much surrounded! The entire camping site is swarming with the dead.”

And they’re going crazy with all our yelling, but neither of them can reach as high as the trailer roof.

The next reply doesn’t come as quickly. Probably they’re trying to figure out a way to get to us. Eventually it’s Jake who calls, “There’s no way we can get over to you at the moment. We’ll need backup from home. Do you think you can last that long?”

“It’s not like they’ll figure out how to climb anytime soon,” Troy replies. “So yeah, we’ll last. Just get the backup, and more importantly, get the supplies home. I don’t wanna be in this shit for nothing.”

“Alright,” Jake responds after a few seconds. “We’ll come back for you as fast as possible!” Then the flashlights in the distance are turned off.

“And Troy?” Jake’s voice returns from the darkness one last time. “Just… don’t.” He leaves the sentence hanging like that, then slowly turns around, jumping off the truck’s loading area, vanishing from our sight. A few moments later, we hear the roar of engines through the endless groaning of the walkers surrounding us.

“He doesn’t trust me either,” Troy shrugs, looking at me.

I hold his eyes warily. “And is he right?”

“About what?”

“Not to,” I say.

All I get from him in return is a disdainful smile, then he strolls over to the other side of the roof, observing the walkers.

“You could have just left me down there, you know,” I go on, eyeing him as closely as he’s eying the dead. “No one forced you to save me. No one would have ever found out.” Then I look away. “But I guess that wouldn’t be much of a revenge, would it? You need to do it yourself, with your own hands.”

He’s still keeping his eyes locked on the dead, not responding to my words in any way. I wonder if that’s because I’ve hit the bullseye.

Slowly, I sit back down, crossing my legs. “Just do me one favor, okay? Don’t choke me again. Suffocating is pure agony. Have mercy and shoot me instead.”

“Oh, so it was mercy that you showed to my father?” His eyes are back on me in the blink of an eye, now shining with open animosity. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“You make it sound like I didn’t care,” I counter, shaking my head at his misconception. “You have no idea how heavy this burden weighs on me. It was the hardest choice I ever made.”

“It wasn’t your choice to make in the first place,” Troy accuses me. “It was my father’s.”

“Jeremiah refused to make his choice,” I defend, but Troy doesn’t accept it.

“Oh, he made his choice,” Troy insists. “It just wasn’t the choice you wanted.”

He stares at me for several moments, then hisses through his teeth and starts pacing along the edge of the roof.

“Maybe you’re right,” I admit after a while, and by the way he stops for a second it’s obvious this confession takes him by surprise. “It wasn’t the choice I had hoped for. And I knew I couldn’t accept it. I couldn’t, because of my Grand Cause.”

“Your what?” he growls, shooting me a look.

“My Grand Cause,” I repeat. “The one maxim that I’m acting on. _Keep safe what you love_. Everybody is acting on that nowadays. But everyone’s Grand Cause is a different one, because everyone loves different people and cherishes different things. So sometimes those Grand Causes conflict with each other. That’s what happened with me and your father.”

He doesn’t respond, so after a few moments of silence, I go on. “The thing you love the most is the ranch, Troy, isn’t it? Your home,” I ask genuinely, my eyes following his pacing. “You’d do anything to keep it safe, to keep the people living there safe. That’s your Grand Cause. And you wanted to think that your father felt the same. But he didn’t.”

If we weren’t merely a few steps apart, I’d start wondering if he actually heard me. He just stands there, at the edge of the roof, staring down at the walkers. But the tension on his face is undeniable.

I keep my eyes fixed on him. “Your father was willing to let the ranch be destroyed, to let everyone living there die, including you and your brother. Just to save his own life. Turns out that was _his_ Grand Cause.”

“So, what are you saying?” Suddenly his eyes are on me, sharp and disdainful, like poisoned arrows. “That he was a bad, selfish person and so it was okay to kill him? Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?”

I’m on my feet in an instant, suddenly unable to bear the fact he’s looking down at me anymore. The entire roof is between us, but at least we’re on eye level now. “I _looked up_ to your father,” I hiss at Troy, fed up with his arrogance to judge me even though he doesn’t know half of the story. “I admired him for what he had built at the ranch, for his straightforwardness, for the perfect balance he stroke between generosity and authority.”

That at least earns me a snort from Troy.

“He was the reason I stayed, even as Luci wanted to leave. I would have gone after her, if it hadn’t been for Jeremiah,” I say. “He helped me rebuild the cottage, encouraged me to build something of my own, to build a life here at the ranch.” Then I close my eyes, shaking my head, as the realization still hurts. “But I was wrong about him. Turns out he didn’t help me clean the walls and fix the roof because he wanted me to find my purpose. He only did it to make sure I wouldn’t accidentally stumble across the bodies buried underneath the floor.”

“So what?” he insists. “He disappointed you? That doesn’t justify killing him. He was a drunk, and selfish bastard, yeah, I know that. But in the end, everyone would put their own lives first. That’s just human nature.”

“ _You_ wouldn’t,” I object, my voice now softer, and in his eyes I can see how this is the one reply he would have never seen coming. “You told me once you wouldn’t hesitate a second to be the one to stay behind on that suicide mission. And you seemed genuine.”

He stares at me for a long time. “So what do you want me to say, Nick, huh?!” I know I’ve cornered him and his answer is – as usual – to slowly lose his temper. “ _It’s alright you shot my father in the head? I forgive you for killing him?_ ” He snorts, and his eyes are full of disdain. “Because that’s never gonna happen. No matter his reasons or your reasons or any reasons, no matter he was a drunk or selfish or a coward. I’m never gonna forgive you. It’s that simple.”

“I wasn’t asking–“ I’m starting to point out, but he cuts me off.

“Killing a family member isn’t something anyone could ever let go,” he barks, even though I’m starting to wonder whether it’s still me he’s trying to assure this to or rather himself. “If our roles were reversed,” – suddenly his eyes lock back to mine –, “if I’d been the one who’d killed your mother, would you ever be okay with it?”

“No, of course not,” I reply truthfully. “But there’s one tiny little difference.” Now I’m the one holding his eyes. “She wouldn’t have put you in this position in the first place.”

That hits him hard, I can tell. He has such a high opinion of my mother – hell, that’s even the reason he respects her so much. And that’s why he knows I’m right. My mother would have never put her own life before the lives of her family. If the choice had been Alicia and me or her, she would have put that barrel against her own temple without batting an eye. That’s the difference between Jeremiah Otto and Madison Clark.

So that actually renders him speechless, and for one short, sweet moment I can’t help but be proud of having given it my all, not to justify my actions, but to at least explain my reasons, and by that maybe even having emerged victorious from this argument.

And it’s only the twitching of his fingers around his sidearm that painfully reminds me of who I’m actually dealing with here: A bloodthirsty psychopath who’s so unable to interact with other people in an acceptable way that already as a kid he got kicked out of school, who treasures the lives of strangers so little he kills them like mice in a laboratory, whose only reaction to getting his feelings hurt is losing it – and all of a sudden being all smarty-pants around him doesn’t seem like the most clever idea anymore.

The look in his eyes is like ice, and slowly I’m starting to worry. The fear from earlier is back: It’s just him and me, in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dozens of hungry walkers. It’s going to be hours until Jake returns with the backup, and Troy’s the one holding a gun whereas all I’ve left is a single shoe. He could just make up a story about how the dead got to me after all. How he tried to save me at the last second, but failed. No one could ever prove the opposite.

Panicking, I’m struggling to come up with anything to change the subject, to appease him, and the first thing that comes to my mind is his ‘research’. He’s always so thrilled when it comes to finding out more about the turning process, so maybe getting him to talk about that will take his mind off his grudge against me – even if it’s just for a few minutes. So as much as I despise it, I fake curiosity to flatter him. “So, Troy, speaking of walkers, I was just wondering, about this research of yours,” I start, as nonchalant as possible. “So if I tell you my height and weight, you’re actually able to calculate how long it will one day take for me to turn?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replies immediately, tossing his gun from one hand into the other. Then suddenly he catches it again and I hold my breath as suddenly I’m eye to eye with the barrel.

Paradoxically, Troy’s smiling. “Or I could just shoot you and find out empirically.”

I stare at him for one long moment, pale as a ghost, until he starts laughing wickedly.

“Isn’t that right, Nicky?” he adds, then puts the gun back into his waistband as he turns away from me.

I’m left with my heart racing, and our conversation is over.

It’s gonna be one hell of a long night until help arrives.

 

Admittedly, in hindsight spending the night up here with some borderline psychopath who’s just all too keen on getting my blood on his hands would have been the preferable option – compared to what’s to come.

I realize that about one and a half hours later, when Troy unexpectedly breaks the silence with a “Tsk, check out those suckers…”

There is something in his voice that gets me to believe it’s not just some of his sick shit like a new observation for his pseudo-scientific interest in the dead, but something that might actually be worth my getting up and coming over to the edge of the trailer. And once I do, I realize this has indeed been a good idea.

In their relentless struggle to reach us, a few walkers have apparently tripped and fallen down, now being trampled on by others. Not that we’d care, normally, but unfortunately it turns out the walkers on the ground accidentally serve as some sort of step to the other dead, their hands now reaching significantly higher than before. An exceptionally tall man even manages to get his fingers on the roof, grasping in the general direction of Troy’s boots.

My companion in turn – not really being the hesitant kind – takes his gun into his hand again, turns it around and smashes the man’s head with the handle.

There’s a crackling sound as the rotten bone of his skull splinters, and he falls back down into the crowd of his own kind.

Bad luck for us: He lands right on top of the walkers already face-down on the ground, creating yet another step towards us.

“Son of a bitch,” Troy hisses, teeth clenched, “we need to get them away from the trailer.”

“Too late,” I reply, watching as now several hands appear on the edge of the roof. I catch myself instinctively taking a step back, but it’s not like there’s anywhere for us to run in the first place. “At this rate, we’re never gonna last till morning.”

He knows I’m right, and even though I can read in his eyes he’s as scared as me, it’s the military leader taking over, trying to come up with a plan to save his and his comrades’ lives. “We’re gonna shoot our way out,” he decides eventually, “clear a path to get to that van over there. That’ll buy us some time before they start piling up again.”

“I don’t have a gun,” I point out, “I don’t even have _two shoes_ anymore. Besides,” nodding towards the van he picked, “it doesn’t seem as high as our trailer in the first place. They might reach us even faster than up here.”

I feel his eyes on me. Normally, I’d expect some vicious remark or him snapping at me on how I dare to talk back. But surprisingly, none of this happens. All he does is look at me for a long time. Then he says, “So what do _you_ suggest?”

“We need to get outta here,” I say, almost automatically, “like, _really_ outta here. Away from them.”

“Well,” he shrugs with a snort, “you could try and ask nicely…” So here it is after all, the sarcasm I’ve been waiting for.

I’d rather not admit it to myself, but truth is, I know _exactly_ what we need to do. I’ve been waiting until now, hoping we’d come up with another plan, since my solution could only serve as a last resort. But what choice do we have? If we stay here doing nothing or follow through with Troy’s plan, all that’s left for Jake to find in the morning will be two more walkers roaming the camping site.

It takes me a while to find the courage to say it out loud, as I’m well aware of what that means. Suggesting this plan will reveal more about me than I’d ever want Troy to know. He’ll be able to draw conclusions about me, conclusions that might have consequences.

More rotting hands on the roof.

“We need to pull one of them up here, then kill it,” I say, and finally the words are out. “Then we cover our clothes, hands and faces with its blood and gore. If we look and smell like them, it’ll make us invisible to them.”

There it is again, the _Troy stare_. The look he gives people when he thinks they’re talking shit, when he’s trying to figure out whether to laugh or cry. “Invisible,” he repeats, crossing his arms before his chest. “And you assume this’ll work?”

Admitting the following to him costs me even more effort than suggesting we’d take a bath in the guts of a dead person. “I’m not assuming,” I say, turning my eyes to him, “I’ve tested it. It works.” _Tested_. He’s so gonna lunge at this word. _Nick Clark has been experimenting with the dead as well?! So at his very core, he’s just as crazy and fascinated by the morbid as me?!_

To my endless surprise, this isn’t what he replies. “Huh,” is all he says in the end, then strangely he turns back to the edge. “Then let’s take the girl over there. She seems light enough for us to pull her up easily, preserved well enough for her arms not to tear apart once we grab her and feeble enough to not put up much of a fight.”

 

So that’s exactly what we end up doing. Troy – bending over at the edge of the roof – reaches down to catch her arms as she eagerly reaches back, like a fan at a rock concert whose greatest bliss would be to touch her idol just once.

I’m right there beside him, the security guard, slashing down with my knife to keep the other walkers from getting a hold of Troy, at the same time ready to plunge the blade in her head as soon as Troy pulls her upwards.

The girl grows limb immediately and no matter the disgust, I wrap my arms around her torso – her stench as well as the lifeless cold of her body almost making me gag.

Then the deed is done, our prey stretched out on the trailer roof.

I cut open her belly, guts and blood oozing out immediately, and we get on our knees next to her. At least we don’t have to dig any deeper. This would be enough camouflage for an entire squad.

I’m plunging my hands into the gore, smearing blood and gore on my face, neck and hands. It’s obvious how much Troy’s disgusted by it, but in the end he starts following my lead, taking care of his own morbid war paint.

“So, you _tested_ this,” he says, spreading blood on his sleeves, and even as he’s struggling not to throw up, for a moment it’s almost like I catch a spark of glee in his eyes – glee, that he caught me on something that could finally knock me off my high horse. “You wanted to learn more about the dead and their behavior as well.”

So there it is, as expected, he’s taken my accidental bait after all.

Keeping his eyes on his work, he goes on with a smug shrug. “Maybe we’re not so different from each other after all...”

I should be insulted that he’s actually assuming there was a parallel here. Yeah, I made these observations about the dead and the way they work. But the reason for it was that if I hadn’t I would be dead myself right now. I wasn’t experimenting because I felt bored or couldn’t think of another way to satisfy my craving for recognition and bloodlust. “Oh, please, don’t flatter yourself,” I counter with a dismissive snort, “We have nothing in common, you and I.” Now looking up at him. “I didn’t kill innocent people.”

I knew these words were a mistake as soon as they left my mouth, but it was too late. The damage has already been done.

He meets my eyes, his blood-smeared face calm, expression unfazed. “Didn’t you,” is all he replies, then he looks away again.

And right at that moment it hits me, the cruel, utter truth: We’re both crouching up here with blood on our hands – thanks to some cruel irony both figuratively and literally – and I’m guilty just as much as he is. I’ve cold-heartedly murdered his father, and even though he was a selfish, lying bastard, last time I checked refusing to kill yourself to save the many didn’t actually qualify as a crime. And yet, I put a bullet through Jeremiah Otto’s brain.

Five minutes later, we’re both shuffling through the crowd of walkers on the camping ground, covered in blood and gore, trying to make our way to safety, undetected and invisible, fitting in with the walking dead so perfectly.

Because in the end that’s all we are. Just two more monsters in a world in which there’s only monsters left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the first chapter.  
> I'm aware canon has now developed quite differently in the meantime, but I started writing this during hiatus, so yeah, here we are.  
> Not much manipulating happening yet, I'm aware of that, but I promise you it won't take long until we get to that in the second chapter :)  
> Hope you'll stick around!


	2. Foul Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone who commented or left their kudos on the first chapter! I'm so happy you enjoyed the groundwork laid out there, so here we go with chapter two - and finally enter manipulative Nick :)  
> Hope you'll enjoy reading on!

The following weeks, life on the ranch goes back to business as usual.

In hindsight, that night at the camping site may have helped both of us to get off our high horses, even if it’s just a little bit. So in the following days, I end up rejoining the militia, assuring my mom time and again that if Troy was actually still seeking my life, he’d had a thousand opportunities to end it alone with me in the middle of nowhere.

It’s not like he and I are best buddies now. We’ll most likely never be. Too many horrible things have been said and done between us – also but not only during that night on the trailer. Things that cannot be taken back. But maybe that’s not even necessary. Maybe we don’t have to be friends. Maybe it’s enough for us to work side by side towards both our Grand Causes: To keep safe what we love. Maybe this is already enough for everyone to be happy.

A good credo to go by I decide, and for quite a while we actually manage to keep the points of friction between us at a minimum.

Not so however on a fateful day in late September, when in the morning Alicia and an elderly woman named Clara return from the well with their buckets empty. So the dreaded day Jeremiah Otto had always predicted has eventually come. The ranch’s water sources have run dry.

Of course the only answer Troy can come up with is immediately sharpening the blades. In an emergency briefing he calls in the afternoon, gathering the entire militia in the barracks, he’s quick to present us “the only solution we have left”: Execute a raid on Qaletaqa Walker and his people to reclaim the water supplies that once were ours anyway. The ones Jake gave away in order to negotiate peace between both our communities. But now the circumstances have changed, he reminds us, we need the supplies ourselves, so we need to claim them back and – if they don’t comply – take them back by force. Blah-blah.

I’m sitting there in the back row of the makeshift briefing room, with my arms crossed before my chest. It shocks me that he’s actually serious about this madness. And it shocks me even more that I seem to be the only one who realizes that – or has the guts to stand up to him.

“How is that a permanent solution?” I raise my hand to his (rhetorical) “Any questions?”.

I don’t get an answer, but I do get a look. And it’s not a friendly one.

Rocking back and forth with my chair, I shrug. “I mean you intent to start a war between our two communities, a war we’ve fought _so hard_ to prevent. And for what? A truckload full of water bottles?” I look around me, but no one dares to meet my eyes. They’re all too scared to side with Troy’s nemesis.

I don’t care. I’m in the right on this, after all. Anyone can see that, and anyone who can’t is a moron. “A truckload to supply the entire ranch? They’re gonna last us like two weeks, then we’re gonna be right back here in this room, with Walker at our throat and no more truckloads to loot.”

Silence settles over us once my words have faded.

They all know I’m right, but no one dares to support me.

Eventually, a quiet chuckle cuts through the silence. Troy’s chuckle. A dismissive chuckle. “You’re such a smart cookie, Nick, bravo.” And then less friendly, “But in the New World, there are no permanent solutions. This is not about finding a _permanent_ solution. This is about living to see the next morning.”

Now, a few of the militiamen start nodding, those hypocrites.

“What about the morning two weeks from now?” I interrupt, but he’s not done yet.

Unfazed by my objection, he ends our dispute with a final “There’s simply no alternative.”

“Actually,” someone unexpectedly pipes up and everyone turns around to the middle-aged man sitting right in front of me.

I know him, even though we never actually had anything to do with each other. He’s been part of the militia ever since I joined. I vaguely remember others calling him Gabe.

“There might be an alternative,” Gabe says and I mentally applaud him, even though I have no idea what his alternative’s going to be. Maybe it’s gonna be something stupid. But he can be sure of my respect no matter what.

“Before I came to the ranch,” Gabe explains, “I used to work at Reznik & Son, the pharmaceutical manufacturer. We were specialized on medical skin creams, cortisone ointments for example to treat neurodermatitis with.” He turns a little on his chair to be better able to look at the people sitting around him. “Now what most people aren’t aware of is that most of these creams are water-based, and since they’re medical products you need extremely pure water for the production. That’s why the factory in Austin – where I worked – had an in-house ninety yard water pump with a connected water-cleansing unit.”

I hold my breath as he speaks. I did him so wrong assuming his idea would be stupid. Truth is, and I know this from the bottom of my heart, this is our jackpot.

Not much of a surprise though, Troy thinks differently. “Everyone runs low on water these days. If what you said is true, there is no way that factory is still unoccupied. Someone got there first and claimed the water pump for themselves.”

“But that’s the thing,” Gabe objects. “When the apocalypse hit, I’m sure the factory was ransacked immediately, ‘cause people were keen on getting their hands on the meds. For other survivors, later, there was no reason to return since the place had already been raided. The water pump doesn’t exactly have ‘water pump’ written on it, so I doubt a layman would be able to identify its purpose. As for my former colleagues, I’d be surprised if a lot of them were still alive.”

“It’s the perfect plan,” I point out excitedly, before Troy can denigrate the idea once more. “That way, we could get a new water source of our own, without attacking anyone or starting a war with anyone. We just have to go there and get as much water as we want.”

“That sounds almost too good to be true,” someone from the front row comments.

“Yeah, and in my experience,” Troy agrees, “if something is too good to be true, it usually is.” He starts pacing in front of us. “For my taste, there are a little too many unknown variables in this equation. From what I can see, the theory that the factory is unoccupied is nothing but an assumption – and rather just a hope. My guess is we have to expect armed resistance. And who knows, whoever occupies the factory may be much better equipped than Walker with his cute little tomahawks.”

He stops and looks back at Gabe. “Then, secondly, Austin, you said? That’s freakin’ halfway across the country! The party we send out would easily be gone a week. Can we even last that long with the little water we have left? And what if they return empty-handed? Then we lost precious time to come up with another plan. And it will be too late to attack Walker then.”

Many of the people around me who were excited or at least hopeful when Gabe made his suggestion are hanging their heads now.

“But it’s just like Gabe said,” I insist. “It’s extremely–“

“It’s Paul,” Gabe looks at me over his shoulder with a frown.

I blink, squinting my eyes. “Seriously, now?”

Troy gives me a bugged sigh. “That’s pointless.”

“No,” I counter, starting over again. “As _Paul_ said, it’s extremely unlikely we’ll encounter anyone there. That means it won’t matter if it’s too late to attack Walker once the party returns. We won’t _have_ to anymore in the first place.”

“ _If_ we don’t encounter anyone,” Troy insists. “I can’t go for broke with the survival of the entire ranch depending on it. Yes, attacking Walker will be risky. We may lose people. But we’re certain to gain the water. With Paul’s idea, the huge prize is tempting, yeah, but it’s not certain we’ll end up with any water at all. And then we might lose everyone.”

He looks at all of us, slowly. “So we have one option with optimal outcome but uncertain chance of success. And we have a second option with average outcome but huge chance of success.” Suddenly, his eyes are on me. “Sacrificing a few to save the many, aren’t you the expert on moral dilemmas like that?”

I don’t reply.

Troy snorts at me dismissively, then shakes his head. “No. I have to go with the rational choice here. We’re going to take the water from Walker.”

“Your father died to keep this peace!” I burst out, suddenly jumping to my feet. “If you attack Walker now, Jeremiah will have died for nothing! Is that what you want?!”

Silence settles over the room, all eyes are wide and they’re on me. The tension electrifying the air suddenly feels so real, you could grasp it with your hands. In truth, everyone is dying to see how Troy will react to this provocation – and he ends up disappointing them all.

“Alright,” he says, first looking at me, then looking away, then back at me. “Alright, Nick.” With not even four steps, he’s right there in front of me, grabbing me by my arm and dragging me down the stairs into the basement of the armory.

 

Once we’re out of earshot, he stops in the narrow space between the weapons’ racks and turns around. “What do you think you’re doing?” he hisses and it’s one of those questions any answer will be a wrong answer.

“I’m saving you from a huge mistake,” I point out, trying my best to keep my voice as low as possible. “Are you crazy starting a war with Walker, if we have a perfect alternative like that at our hands?!”

“I have a responsibility here,” he snaps back, “I have to think of the ranch. I can’t waste our resources chasing rainbows and let the rest of the ranch croak of thirst.”

Gosh, the stubbornness!! The more he presses his point for no other reason than him already having made up his mind, the more I just want to punch him. “I’ve been lost in the dessert for days, months ago,” I growl at him, “and I’d nearly died of thirst. I drank my own piss to stay alive, so don’t you dare tell me about thirst.”

He grows quiet as I say this. Yeah, high time someone opens his eyes about the real world out there.

“I’ve suffered through this, and I’m still voting for the water pump option. How can you reject the solution that’s clearly our best shot?” I look at him intensely, then very calm and very slowly I repeat, “Your father died so we can live in peace with Walker. You can’t ruin that.”

“No, my father died, because you killed him,” he hisses back, pointing at me accusingly. The glare in his eyes makes it obvious I’m heading into dangerous territory once more.

He just doesn’t get it, the idiot! At the very core of this, this isn’t about Jeremiah or Walker or anyone. This is about me, and the guilt I have to bear. If Troy starts a war with Walker, then to me it’s not about Jeremiah having died in vain. To me, it’s about _me having killed Jeremiah in vain_. I will have murdered an innocent person, made myself a killer, for _nothing at all_.

So Troy, this is the truth, the bare and utter truth why I can’t let you attack Walker. Over my dead body. Over my cold, lifeless, rotting, walking corpse. No matter what I have to do. “His death served a purpose,” I insist darkly. “And you’re about to destroy that.”

If it comes to it, I’d rather kill him too than let him ruin everything I sacrificed a part of my soul for. After all, if it’s okay to sacrifice one for the sake of the many, sacrificing two shouldn’t make much of a difference either. At least not from the “rational choice point of view” he seems to be so fond of today.

For a second, my eyes dart to the weapons’ rack right next to us. There are dozens of pistols there. I could just grab one and gun him down in an instant. Keep the peace once again – and yet with another murder.

Of course, I’m only tempted by that for the blink of an eye. It’s not like this was _actually_ an option. It’s not like I could just walk out of something like that a second time. It’s not like I could go back up there, going all, “Everyone, something terrible’s just happened down there! Troy shot himself! I tried to stop him, but I was too late. He committed suicide, just like his father. Apparently it does run in the family. But the most horrible coincidence is, once again I had to be the one to witness. I’m so distraught right now, please just get me to a counselor.”

Nah, not in a million lives could I get away with that.

So turns out my time is up anyway. Thanks to my hesitation to take action Troy’s done with me down here. “His death served a purpose _at that one point in the past_ when we averted the war,” he points out slowly, like talking to a kid. “I can’t hold Walker’s community sacred for all times to come just because of that, especially not when it’s against all rationality. My father’s death served a purpose, but that was in the past. We live in the present. And the circumstances keep changing all the time. We have to play it as we go.” His words are final and he gives me one last warning glance. “So shut the hell up now, Clark, and don’t you dare start this again upstairs.”

He pushes past me, but I grab his arm. “Wait. Troy,” I say, now significantly softer than before.

He stops and turns around, giving me an impatient look and I know this is the final chance I’ll ever get to make him change his mind. Whatever I come up with now, it better be good.

If only my mom was here right now. She’d know what to do, what strings to pull to get him to reason. She’s been so good at manipulating him ever since we got to the ranch. I fear I’m so much less up to that task. She has this motherly charm on him, playing the role of the mom he never had but always wished for so well – and he fell for that so easily. She gives him one motherly look, and the tiger turns into a kitten.

I on the other hand am nothing to him. I don’t represent any ideal of a family member he craves for, unlike her. I can’t mimic the role of a father to him. At most, I’d be a brother, but unfortunately with Jake around, this is about the only relationship he actually has.

Well, speaking of relationships… There actually might be something else he lacks – at least as far as I know – and that’s a…

Oh, you gotta be kidding me! No way. This is crazy! I’d never go there, not in a billion years. Not with him. Not even to save this place. Not even to save my family.

Okay, scratch that. To save my family, I’d actually do that.

But is he gonna buy it? It might be a bit much, me trying too hard, too obviously to manipulate him. He might see through it. But from what I understand, it’s the only chance I got left. If it fails, he’ll attack Walker. If I don’t even try, he’ll attack him as well. So, what’s there to lose? On top of that, he’s never been particularly fond of me in the first place, so alienating him wouldn’t have much of a consequence either. So it might be worth giving it a shot.

“There is one crucial reason I just can’t let you attack Walker,” I tell him, taking a deep breath to brace myself for what’s to come.

He gives me a snort. “And what would that be?”

I look him in the eyes, trying to act as if this was hard for me. (It actually is hard for me, but for a different reason…) I pull myself together. “Because of my Grand Cause.”

He rolls his eyes. “That again.”

“You remember, don’t you, Troy?” I push, waiting for him to turn his eyes back to me. “I told you that night at the camping site,” I go on – and it’s a good thing the corridors between the weapons’ racks are this narrow. We’re already standing so close. And yet, I’m slowly moving even closer. “It’s the maxim I’m acting on,” I whisper, giving him a deep look, our faces now just inches apart. “ _Keep safe what you–_ well…“ And instead of finishing it, I let my eyes trail down to his lips.

_Alright, alright._ I know I’m laying it on thick here, but I only got one chance so I have to give it everything I got.

He automatically shies away a little, giving me a puzzled look mixing with a frown, like, _What on Earth is going on here?_ , but I keep up my act, preparing for the grand finale.

“You know, Troy,” I whisper softly, looking away a bit bashfully. “There’s actually something I’ve been meaning to tell you… Ever since that night…” Then I meet his eyes. “The truth is, I think I may have…”

I reach forward, put my fingers around the back of his neck, slowly and gently, to make sure I don’t set him off, then lean in to him, close my eyes and kiss him.

 

I’ve been anticipating one of two possible reactions.

Number one: He’ll push me off him and to the ground, punch me, insult me and most likely kill me.

Number two, the preferable one (at least from an objective point of view): Troy, totally not used to receiving any kind of tenderness whatsoever, will be thrown off track. He’ll end up returning the kiss, hungry for affection, greedily, rough and with the same kind of wild aggression he displays in most of the things he does.

Unexpectedly however, Troy goes for neither of them, and that’s where the awkwardness begins. Neither does he react in Way No. 1 nor does he react in Way No. 2. No punching, and no kissing back.

Troy Otto doesn’t react _at all_.

I could be kissing a shop window dummy.

Too late to abort now, I remind myself. No matter how awkward this moment may be, I have to get through it somehow.

Slowly, softly, I let my lips brush over his frozen ones, putting as much sincerity in it as I can muster. Maybe once he comes to trust in this moment, he’ll return the kiss. So gently, I let the tips of my fingers run along his neck, caressing the soft skin there, delicately teasing him with the touch.

But no reaction so far, so I go for another try: A second kiss, just as gentle and slow as the first one, as if I felt it in my heart so deeply, as if I’d been dreaming of this moment for an unbearably long time. And suddenly I imagine it’s Luci I’m kissing right now – and I put all my heartbroken longing into it.

And still, nothing.

In the end, I let my lips linger on his in total stillness for a while longer, unsure what make of this or how to proceed from here, then plainly I break away.

Opening my eyes, I look at him – and the puzzled expression I give him is genuine.

He however is just standing there, stiff, like he was nothing but a noninvolved bystander, his eyes locked on some random spot on the weapons’ rack, his mind lost somewhere far away in his own thoughts, and it feels like to him I wasn’t even there.

Gosh, what am I to make of that? Was does all of this mean? Was my plan a success after all? Or did I go out of my way for nothing, my last resort an utter failure? I have no way of telling!

The only thing I can do is appeal to him once more, praying at least that won’t be in vain.

Even though he still doesn’t meet my eyes, I give him a pleading look. “Please, reconsider,” I whisper, then I turn around, head up the stairs and out of the barracks with a dozen of expectant eyes following me all the way to the door.

Sorry to disappoint, but I’ll leave it up to Troy to fill you in on the blanks – with whatever story he may come up with.

 

Once outside, I take a deep breath of cool, fresh fall air, and the strangeness and awkwardness of what just happened suddenly seems less oppressive. On the contrary! Come to think of it. The most likely reaction would have been for Troy to push me off him – and that didn’t happen. So in the end, I guess chances are pretty high my plan actually worked out after all?! With unexpected confidence, I head down the path leading from the barracks to the center of the ranch.

On my way, I try to make sense of the variety of different feelings that are tossing and turning inside of me. Breaking it down, I guess it’s mainly two conflicting moods fighting to gain the upper hand:

On the one hand, it’s hard to suppress that huge grin that’s spreading on my face. I can honestly say I feel like the badest-ass (worstass?) son of a bitch in the world. Pulling off a ploy like that? Way to go, Mr. Nicholas Clark! We hadn’t expected such a smart move coming from you! Now just think of what it’ll be like if this was actually successful? Then your family will be safe, the ranch at peace and a new source of water at our disposal – and all of that just thanks to your amazing bravery!

Yeah, very cool indeed. And still… There is also something extremely unsettling about that kiss we shared just now. The fact that he didn’t react to it _at all_. Thinking of it now, I guess I would have preferred either of the alternatives I’d originally expected – him punching me or him kissing me back violently. But this strange kind of non-reaction? It was almost as if Troy – hurt, abandoned, neglected, lonely Troy – couldn’t even imagine that someone would ever like him, that someone would ever feel as much for him as to kiss him. And that is actually really sad.

Maybe this is why I can’t entirely indulge in that triumphant joy I should be experiencing right now. Something about his lack of reaction was so real, so honest, I can’t help but feel a bit guilty for misusing those feelings in such a despicable way.

_No, stop it. You’re being too soft on him._ It’s his own fault after all, I remind myself. No one forced him to be so hot-headed and stubborn. If he’d been more open to reason, there would have been no need to draw on methods like that. So forget about the guilt, Nick. This is all on him. Besides, it’s Troy Otto we’re talking about. He’s done so many horrible things in his life, hurt so many people, it’s only fair for him to be at the receiving end for a change. Besides, some little sentimental shit like that won’t be able to break through his massive shell of indifference anyway. And even if it does, well, he’s so had it coming.

You were just serving your Grand Cause, and you did an awesome job doing so!

I’m just about to turn round the corner and follow the trail that leads up to my cottage, when over there between the trailers I suddenly spot my mom, wearing a sour face and heading straight for the barracks.

“Mom!” I call, turning around and jogging over to her. “What’s wrong?”

She doesn’t stop, just slows down her pace a little. “Cory Spencer said Troy was planning on attacking Walker to get our water supplies back?!”

“Yeah, we just had a briefing on that,” I confirm.

She shakes her head. “What on Earth is wrong with this boy? His father lost his life for that peace!”

Yeah, it’s obvious for anyone but him.

She turns her eyes up ahead. “I’m gonna talk to him.”

“Wait, Mom, no,” I object, grabbing her arm. “Troy’s already been taken care of.”

She stops as I say this, then gives me one long look. “What do you mean, _taken care of_?”

“I talked to him and convinced him this was a bad idea,” I explain quickly.

Squinting her eyes, she tries to see through me. “Convinced, how?” she pushes on. “From my experience, Troy’s not really susceptible to reason once he’s made up his mind.”

_You don’t say!_ I hold her eyes defiantly. “You’re not the only one who knows how to play their cards right, Mom.”

That’s enough for her to know there’s been more going on than just a pleasant chit-chat. “What did you do, Nick?”

The weird thing is, I actually want her to know. I want her to see that I contribute as well, that our safety means as much to me as it does to her, and that I’m absolutely determined to help any way I can.

“A mom is not the only relationship missing in his life,” I point out, curious to see how soon she’ll take the bait. “Or have you ever seen him with a girl – or any other person for that matter?”

She gives me a puzzled look, apparently not sure she understands. “What are you saying?” she whispers, pushing me to explain, but dreading the answer at the same time. When all I do is smile at her confidently, she shakes her head. “Don’t tell me you’re trying to… I mean, you didn’t…” It’s apparently tricky for her to spill it out. “But what about Luciana?” She eventually goes for that instead. “What about Zoe?” And whispering, “You’re not into men!”

“Of course not, and much less I’m into him!” I stress. “But that’s not the point. It’s just a trick.” Then with a shrug I add, “As for Troy – I’m getting the impression he’d fall for anyone who shows him at least a little bit of kindness.”

“This is a very, _very_ bad idea, Nick,” she insists. “And I fear you’re taking this too lightly. What if he wants more? You’ll have to rebuff him sooner or later, and that won’t end well.”

“He doesn’t want _more_ ,” I laugh out automatically at the absurdity – that hadn’t even crossed my mind yet. “He almost peed his pants just now and all I did was kiss him.” I thought this was the perfect proof to reassure her (and maybe also reassure myself a little…), but turns out it’s actually the answer that makes it all worse.

“You _kissed_ him?!” she hisses, now looking at me as if I’d lost my mind altogether.

I purse my lips, suddenly defensive. “I told you I was going for love interest.”

“I thought you flirted with him or whatever…” She shakes her head. “This is a dangerous game you’re playing, Nick… Think of what he did when he felt rejected by a friend. I don’t even want to think of what he’d do when he feels rejected by a lover.”

“Relax, Mom, I got this!” I keep insisting.

“And what if Luciana comes back?” she objects. “What are you gonna do when you find yourself in the middle?”

“Luci won’t ever come back,” I assure her. “She’s made that absolutely clear. She despises the ranch and all the people here, first and foremost the Ottos. She won’t return.”

Still giving me the skeptical look.

“Trust me.” I give her a confident look. “I can handle Troy.”

“Yeah, let’s hope you can,” she replies ominously. “Otherwise I fear it’s all of us that are gonna pay the price.”

Right at this moment – as if to prove me right – it’s Gabe – _Paul_ – coming down the path from the barracks. There’s a smile on his face, and he gives me the thumbs-up once he sees us from the distance. “We’re going for the water pump!” he announces merrily with excitement shining in his eyes.

What, seriously now?! It actually worked? God, I can’t believe it!! A huge wave of relief surges over me. So no war with Walker! We’re gonna do this the right way! No one will be harmed.

But can it really be? Was that actually me, having such a big influence on Troy with just one simple, lame-ass kiss like that? All the little pangs of conscience I may have had earlier are immediately washed away. This was so worth it. This _has_ been the right choice, here’s my proof! All the lives saved are my proof. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

“Great job convincing Troy, Clark, we owe you one!” He pats me on the shoulder walking by, then rushes off to tell his family.

I turn back to my mother, giving her a proud smile. “See, told you. Taken care of.”


	3. Foiled Intentions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *** Beware of spoilers for the season finale (just in the notes, not in the story of course ;)) ***
> 
>  
> 
> First of all, thank you so much again, all those people who commented or left their kudos or otherwise enjoyed the story!! These are dark times for us, I know, but I think we shouldn't give up hope yet! Especially with a new showrunner and a sort of open end for Troy. After all, we didn't see him turn and his body got flooded out of the dam before it collapsed, and people sure had even more unlikely survivals in canon so far (Daniel...). That being said, some people have started a petition to bring Troy back next season:  
> https://www.change.org/p/amc-entertainment-bring-back-troy-otto  
> If you have a few moments, please sign it as well! Of course, success is not guranteed, but at least we should do everything in our power to show how much we loved this character!
> 
> In any case, we still have our fics and imagination to dream of better outcomes, so here's the next chapter in my fic, and I hope you'll enjoy this one as well :)

So going for the water pump in the Reznik & Son factory in Austin it is. And turns out, it’s the alternative that’s actually favored by the majority of the ranch, not that Troy’d ever take that for a hint.

There’s one thing he was right about though – Walker’s running low on water as well, so it would be irresponsible to dash off on that mission with the entire militia in tow and leave the ranch unprotected.

Since Paul’s theory about the factory being abandoned does make sense, the mission’s open once again for anyone to join and not restricted to the militia. Paul is going of course, since he’s the one who knows the way and also how to operate the pump. In addition, several people from the ranch who are well capable of defending themselves volunteered, among them my mother and Alicia. I want to come along as well, naturally, as does practically half of the militia, but Troy won’t allow it. He doesn’t want to spare too many of his men and since we’re gonna need energy – i.e. solar panels – to power the water pump, the ones allowed to join the mission are the ones who know how to install and operate a solar panel – i.e. not me.

In the end fortunately it’s Coop, Troy’s right-hand man, and three of the best fighters of our team that get chosen to tag along, so at least I don’t have to worry about their safety. The only downer being the fact that I won’t be part of the mission I’ve substantially initiated. But in the end of course, all that matters is the water and the peace, and in not even a week from now we’ll most likely have both, so who am I to complain?

The trip to Austin and back again is going to take several days, so we agree on staying in contact via radio. While Coop reports back to Troy, every afternoon at five mom and Alicia give me an update on the current status of the mission.

On the second day of their mission, they’re confident to reach the factory the next morning, after two days of constant driving. I already know that I’ll be spending most of that day on patrol, and that’s exactly what happens. While our water pump party infiltrates the factory with brandished guns, I’m strolling around between rocks and bushes, staring at an empty horizon.

In my mind however I’m joining them scouting the area, securing the building, discovering the water pump. With all my heart I hope the plan will work out as smoothly as Paul predicted, so when it’s finally five p.m., I’m already nervously sitting in front of the radio with sweaty hands, impatiently waiting for the static to be interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Nick? Are you there?” Finally!! Mom! And she sounds chipper. “You’ll never guess what I’m drinking right now.”

No way! I throw my head back, laughing out with joy. They made it! They actually made it! With a huge smile on my face I press the button on the radio. “You do realize last time I said that, I spent two weeks in rehab.”

There’s a chuckle at the other end of the connection. “Oh, come on!”

I’m still snickering as well, feeling my adrenaline turn into euphoria. “So you actually made it, huh? I’m so relieved…”

“Me too,” my mother replies. “We were so lucky, we didn’t encounter any problems. The factory was abandoned, just like Paul had predicted.”

“Thank God,” I smile. “And the pump’s still working?”

It takes her a bit longer to respond to this question. “Well, to be honest, we had a bit of trouble connecting the solar panels to the pump, but eventually Coop managed. It’s running now, smoothly, and we’re in the middle of filling our tanks.”

“Great. So how long do you think it’ll take until you can head back home?”

“Well, we’re definitely going to spend the night here,” she informs me. “It’s safer here than outside in the wilderness. We’ll hit the road in the morning.”

“Can’t wait to tell everyone,” I reply excitedly.

The static returns for a moment, then my mom’s voice is back. “So how are things going at the ranch? Is everything okay?” _Ranch_ is what she says, but it’s more than obvious she’s actually asking about Troy – whom I haven’t really talked to since the day of the briefing in the barracks.

“Everything’s fine over here,” I assure her quickly. “It’s business as usual, no extraordinary occurrences.”

“Good,” she says, and the relief in her voice is audible even over the radio. “Keep it up, will you. I’ll see you in three days.”

“Sure,” I reply. “Looking forward to having a drink or two.”

She chuckles again. “And I’ll actually allow it.”

I grin. “Have a safe trip back home.”

 

Thanks to Jake’s strict rationing plan, we’re actually doing very well with the few gallons of water we have left. Once the party returns with their tanks full, we’ll be perfectly stocked for the upcoming weeks. And after analyzing the mission, it will be decided how to handle the water supply in the future. Paul had already suggested he might be ble to disassemble the water pump and take it back to the ranch, but to actually dig this deep on ranch property would take us months, maybe even years. So there’s also the option of setting up a monthly supply run to the factory, or maybe even establishing an outpost at the factory to make sure no one else finds out about the water pump and takes it from us.

Another advantage: Since Walker is in dire need of water supplies as well, instead of a war we’ll now have extra bargaining chips to keep the peace with him.

So after talking to my mom and Alicia one last time over the radio two days later, I go to bed early, anticipating their return tomorrow and looking forward to starting to work on all those different possibilities once they give us their debriefing.

About two hours of sleep in, I’m suddenly awakened by a knock on my door. Drowsily, it takes me a few moments to get up and make my way to the door.

By the impatience the knock is soon repeated with, I have little doubt about whom I may find outside.

And turns out, I’ve been right.

A narrow line of light falls through the door and onto Troy’s face, looking up at me as soon as I open.

“Can I come in?” he asks, but barges in without waiting for my reply anyway. He seems more shaken than usual, his eyes immediately searching the room as if to make sure there was no one else secretly hiding underneath the table or behind the trunk – not that there actually are that many possible hiding places in my tiny little one-room cottage.

“Sure,” I reply on principle, closing the door behind me. “Not that you care about my permission.”

He turns around to look at me, opens his mouth and takes a deep breath, then however just closes it again. Shortly after, he starts a second attempt at saying what he came here to say. “I can’t stop thinking about that moment.”

And I can’t help sighing. Honestly, I’m just tired and I don’t think I have the nerves to deal with this right now. My mom predicted this was going to happen sooner or later, and ever since that I may indeed have been a little worried she might have a point after all. But by then, the deed had already been done. So here you go, boy, this is all on you. “You’re a tick, you know that, Troy?” I tell him. “Once you bite, you never let go again.”

I’m not sure he even heard what I said. If he did, he doesn’t care.

“No matter what I think about, my thoughts always end up back in the barrack’s basement,” he goes on, voice now slow and quiet, as if he was talking to himself.

“Troy, you really shouldn’t…” I start, rubbing my sleepy eyes. When I open them again, I notice his eyes have come to rest on my bed – my chaotic, unmade bed (hardly surprising, since not even a minute ago I’ve been asleep there).

“It’s alright,” he suddenly says, turning around to face me. “I’ve thought this through and come to a conclusion. We can have sex now.”

Toc, toc, toc.

Me blinking.

There must be something wrong with my hearing. I thought he just said, “We can have sex now”.

Did he just say, “We can have sex now”?!

He _did_ say, “We can have sex now”!!

Facepalm!!

Inwardly, I’m bursting into laughter _so hard_. Buwahahaha! Oh dear God, Troy at his best once again! There is no denying it, this guy is ace! I mean, come on!!

It takes all my self-control to not _actually_ start laughing in his face right here and now. Not only would that most likely make him brutally kill me and then take the time on how long it takes me to come back to life, I would also ruin everything I’ve so painfully built up with that kiss – a move I’ve apparently ended up slightly overshooting my mark with.

Well, it can’t be helped. This is the most absurd idea anyone has ever come up with, at least that’s a lesson Troy Otto will have to learn tonight.

“This is not how it works, Troy,” I tell him bluntly, not entirely succeeding in keeping my voice steady, an accidental snort ends up slipping in anyway.

Troy – still ignoring me or simply not giving a shit about my opinion – has meanwhile sat down on the edge of my bed, patting on the mattress for a second, then finally he turns his eyes to me.

“I know what you’re doing,” I tell him, grabbing one of the chairs to sit down – backwards, to fold my arms on the backrest. I think it is necessary to demonstratively bring as much space between us as possible. He occupies the bed, so I’m staying in the dining room (which is, in all fairness, also the bedroom, but it’s the gesture that counts, right?). I hold his eyes. “You keep making crude jokes with your men in the militia, but truth is, you actually have no idea what you’re talking about, do you. Because seriously, who would ever want to be with you?”

It may be a bit harsh, me putting it that way, but he actually manages to keep up the poker face, and admittedly that does impress me. But it doesn’t stop me from going on.

“Now you think this is your one-time chance. You want to keep me close and you think the only way you can do this is by giving me everything right from the start.” Shaking my head slightly. “But that’s not how it works.”

“So what now,” he eventually replies. “You actually think I’m gonna wipe my forehead now and sigh in relief? ‘Whew, thank God he pointed that out, so I don’t have to go through with this after all!’? Is this what you think? I don’t care what you think I think. Because that’s not it. I came here because I want this.”

Pff, not that I have anything to say about this, right? Yeah, well, boy, _so not gonna happen_. I mean, okay, I went as far as to kiss him to get what I wanted, but a kiss is a kiss. People give them away left and right, or at least used to in the Old World. This like hell doesn’t mean I’m gonna sell my entire body like some hooker.

I’m no more than a second away from telling this to his face, but then reason stops me. It’s like I said, I got what I wanted through a kiss. I wanted to gain influence on him (and who would have guessed it would work out this well?). The thing is, if I snub him now, I’ll effectively be corrupting my own game. Then going out of my way to kiss him would have been in vain. Even worse: I’ll lose my only way to get to him, because there’s no backup door for me to try once the romance door shuts close. And I’ll be back to square one.

No way I’m gonna risk that.

So, as far as I see it, the only way is for me to come up with a plan to get rid of him, without rebuffing him too badly. Maybe I can distract him somehow. Stall until I come up with some smart idea.

Damn it the times of mobile phones are over. In the Old World, I’d just sneak to the bathroom, send Alicia a text to call me over, and then I’d be all “So sorry, Troy, but I have to go… Definitely next time!” Not even the radio is a valid option in this case, since our usual chit-chat session at five p.m. is long over.

No, I can’t rely on anyone else. I need to get out of this mess by myself. Maybe I could just try to hit one of his emotional weak spots. As messed up as he is, there shouldn’t be any shortage of them anyway. Of course I’d have to be extremely sensitive or else this plan could backfire. But if I stick to empathy instead of aggression, it might get to him enough so he’ll take off on his own.

“How about you tell me something about yourself, Troy,” I say eventually, shooting him a curious look.

To him, this drastic change of subject of course comes totally out of the blue. Confused, he looks at me, suspecting a trap. “What do you mean? Why are you asking?”

“No special reason,” I lie. “I just thought it’d be nice to get to know each other a little better first.”

That doesn’t seem to convince him much. “You already know everything’s there is to know about me,” he points out with a grunt.

“Yeah, about the Troy who leads the militia, who goes out chasing wild hogs in the middle of the night, and enjoys performing his experiments on the dead.” Not that flattering. “But what about your life before the apocalypse? Tell me about Old World Troy."

Silence. This new situation is too much for him. He came here to – God knows what, but reminiscing about his past hadn’t been on his list.

So I try to offer him a little help. “Didn’t have an easy childhood, did you? Heard you got kicked outta school...” Damn, I guess that was a bit too obviously digging for an emotional weak spot.

It gets him to prick up his ears anyway. “Who told you that?”

My mom, who else? But if he can’t guess that himself, I have no intention of telling him. “Well,” I shrug. “Word travels fast in a small place like this.”

He doesn’t react to that, keeps silent instead. That’s good. Maybe this is a sign I’m already heading in the right direction. “So if you didn’t attend school, how did you spend your days? What did a usual day in the life of Troy Otto look like?”

“I worked on the ranch,” he says, and this is an answer he gives me without hesitation. “This place wasn’t built for fun,” he goes on, almost a bit offended. “It wouldn’t be the safe and comfortable place to live it is now if we hadn’t put a lot of work into it.”

The ranch, of course. Why didn’t I think of that sooner? The way to Troy’s weak spot might not be through his own troubled nature, but through his love for his home. “Yeah, of course,” I nod quickly. “And that’s also why this place means so much to you, isn’t it? Because you helped building it from scratch, right?”

“It’s the place where I belong,” he replies, and I’m not sure if this is meant to affirm or correct what I just said. Slowly, he looks down at his hands. “I’ve always known. But now that the gates are closed, it’s truer than ever. Old World Troy was at home here, but he was still lost.” Suddenly meeting my eyes. “But I’m not lost anymore. I’ve found my true calling in the New World. Fighting with the militia, defending the ranch, figuring out the nature of the infection – that’s what I was born for. I have a purpose here, and it’s all thanks to the apocalypse. The very day we closed the gates, I knew it was gonna be big.”

He’s this close to going into raptures about the end of the world – and it makes me sick. This disgusting, repulsive madness around us that’s already cost all of us our lives in a way, this catastrophe that took our homes from us, and so many of our loved ones. And he’s glad it happened.

I need to change the subject again, fast. Because if he goes on like that, I’ll be the one to brutally kill him and take the time until he turns.

Facts. Let’s stick to the facts. Talking about mere facts is always less dangerous than talking about opinions or the feelings they invoke in us.

Clearing my throat. “So how did you learn about the apocalypse anyway? Did you hear about what was going on on TV or radio?”

He shakes his head. “Experienced it first-hand. Me and a few of the guys were taking a trip to San Diego that day, stock up on supplies at the hardware store. Went there with three pick-ups. On the parking lot, we realized immediately something was off. It was pure chaos. People had started raiding the store.”

I find myself listening curiously as he talks about this, happy that the conversation is now heading in a safer direction, yes, but also because it mesmerizes me somehow to hear about how other people experienced these dark days. “So you raced back home and closed the gates?”

“No,” he shrugs, “we went in there as well. I mean we knew immediately TEOTWAWKI, the end of the world as we know it, had come. Whether it was a regime change or a nuclear disaster didn’t seem to matter at that moment. All we wanted was to grab as many supplies as possible – it might be our last chance. But so thought everyone else.”

His eyes grow distant as he continues. “Inside the store, the chaos was beyond imagination. People had turned into monsters already, in a way. Shoving each other out of the way, fighting over goods. In one of the corridors lay a man whose head had been smashed in with a wrench. He was the first walker I encountered. Came back to life when we filled our carts right next to him. He grabbed my leg, but I managed to break free. That’s when we hauled ass, but not without the supplies.” He lets his eyes wander through the cottage for a moment, then nods. “A lot of the tools you’re using to fix the cottage were actually among the things we grabbed at the hardware store that day.”

“Really?” My eyes come to rest on the toolbox. I didn’t know that! Strangely, knowing these tools’ history gives them some sort of deeper meaning. Then I look back to him. “But they didn’t believe you back at the ranch, did they,” I ask, thinking of my own story.

“Yeah, they did,” Troy replies. “Our dad has been waiting for that day all his life.”

I give him a skeptical frown. “For a zombie apocalypse?”

“For an apocalypse,” he corrects me. “We’d seen _something_ at the hardware store, but no one could have known back then what exactly it was we’re dealing with.”

“Huh,” I reply, imagining Jeremiah listening to Troy’s report all collected, then grimly but determinedly giving the order to seal off the ranch. I’m surprised how vividly all of this came to life before my inner eye while he spoke. It’s strange in a way we never talked about this before, not even when we were on patrol together, standing right next to each other in silence due to our lack of things to talk about. “Makes sense.”

“Why, did you know immediately what was going on when you were face to face with your first walker?”

“Me?” That comes out with a little sarcastic laugh, given the circumstances of my first encounter with the dead. But he can’t know of course. “No, certainly not. I’d thought I’d lost my mind.” Images, memories start flashing before my inner eyes, and for a second I’m actually right back there, that morning at the abandoned church. “The first walker I came across was my girlfriend.”

“Luciana?” he immediately asks with a frown, only realizing the moment he said it that it couldn’t have been her, since Luciana is still very much alive.

“Nah, Luci belongs to the New World,” I explain anyway. “Gloria was her name. I was looking for her in the morning, eventually found her crouching on the floor. She was…” I catch myself wincing. Even now I feel strangely light-headed just thinking of that moment. “She was… _eating_ … someone.”

“Did she attack you?” he wants to know, now listening to my story with the same fascination in his eye that must have been in mine hearing about his experiences.

“No,” I murmur quietly. “But I took off without thinking anyway. Stumbled outside, in panic, onto the street. And got hit by a car.”

“By a car?! Seriously?” The way he says it, he sounds genuinely shocked by that twist of events.

“Yeah, but it was at the very beginning of the apocalypse,” I remind him. “The world was still intact basically. That’s why I got taken to the hospital. Told my mom and Travis about what I’d seen, but they wouldn’t believe me. They blamed the drugs.”

From the corner of my eyes, I notice him frown. “Drugs?”

I’m surprised he’s surprised. I thought he knew. My mom is actually pretty fond of advertising that part of my life. “Yeah, I was an addict back then,” I explain. “So was Gloria. She’d ODed that night, that’s why she’d turned.”

“So what did you do, weed?”

The drug part seems to fascinate him.

I roll up my left sleeve, showing him the scarred crook of my arm. “Heroine.” Adding with a shrug, “I’m old-fashioned.” Then I feel a small, almost melancholic smile on my lips. “Actually, when things got bad and we had to escape the city, my mom broke the medicine cabinet at the school she was teaching at and grabbed all the pills she could get – to make the withdrawal more bearable for me. Awesome as she is.”

That actually gets him to grin. “That sure sounds like Madison.” But then he shakes his head. “You should feel lucky to have her as your mom. Hard to imagine that someone with a family like that would even wanna do drugs in the first place.”

“The apocalypse didn’t only change people,” I point out. “It also changed the dynamics and bonds between them. My Old World family was a mess.” Feels strange to admit this out loud, but it’s the truth after all. “Busy single mother. Perfect little sister setting impossibly high standards.” I shrug. “I mean, Alicia’s always been the good kid, great as school, impressive aspirations. It’s hard to compete against someone like that.”

“I get it,” Troy says unexpectedly, puzzling me once more. “It’s been the same with Jake and me. Him, the impossibly perfect kid, the son who left home to study law – and me, the lost cause.”

“Huh,” I murmur, almost absent-mindedly. It fits in with what I gathered so far about him and his family, even though I hadn’t been aware of this parallel before. Maybe not fitting in with expectations and the world you’re trapped in is what drove him crazy. It’s what drove me crazy after all.

A weird kind of melancholy ends up weighing on my heart, but then suddenly I snap awake as if waking up from a dream. Wait a minute… What the hell am I even doing here?! How come all of a sudden I’m the one opening my heart to him – when the actual plan had been to get him to reveal his soft spots?

“But doing drugs to escape reality,” he goes on eventually, interrupting my thoughts, “I would have never dreamt of doing that.”

“You just became a different kind of addict,” I point out, unfazed. “But an addict nevertheless.”

“Ah, no.” He laughs it away, like I had made a silly joke. Growing serious again, he points out, “I just fit into the New World so perfectly, that’s a difference. My symbiosis with this New World is natural, organic. It may fill a void, yeah, but I wasn’t actively striving for it. It wasn’t me who set off the apocalypse.”

I snort, full of disdain. “You make it sound like the New World was some kind of heaven, when in fact it’s just hell on earth.”

“And the Old World wasn’t?” he counters, catching me off-guard once again. “The Old World was such a great place and you fitted in so perfectly?”

“It was better than this,” I insist.

“Was it?” He doesn’t let go. “Then name one thing that was actually good about the Old World. One moment you were perfectly happy.”

“There were a lot of moments I was perfectly happy,” I pout. “At least until they forced me into rehab.” It’s the honest reply, but the one wrong answer still, and I realize that as soon as I say it, but it’s too late. The words have already left my mouth and he purses his lips as if he’d proven a point.

“This doesn’t prove anything,” I protest. “Maybe both worlds suck all the same.”

It would have been an acceptable compromise for the both of us to settle for, but he’s just stubborn. “I don’t agree,” he insists.

“Fine,” I growl, determined to beat him at his own game. “Then you go ahead. You name one thing that’s actually good about the New World.”

He didn’t expect that one, and for a moment this task seems to demand too much of him. For several seconds he’s struggling to come up with an answer, he can’t seem to break the silence. I’m waiting for a mistake that’s as stupid as mine, but nothing happens.

_Nothing_ as an answer as well, so I’m already leaning back triumphantly, when he catches me off-guard one last and fateful time.

Almost helplessly he shrugs, then he nods at the room. At us. “This,” is his answer.

The word hangs in the air for several seconds and I stare at him perplexed.

In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere around us has changed.

There it is again, for a short moment, the sad, hurting boy, longing for affection, and I manage to catch a glimpse at him. The boy who was so shocked to get kissed, he didn’t even manage to return the gesture.

I wonder if this is who he really is. If this is his true self, buried underneath a thousand shells he’s build up to protect himself from the ones he loves but isn’t loved in return by. I wonder if you could save that boy, if you just dig deep enough.

“Alright,” I say with a snort, surprising myself as I grab my shirt and pull it over my head. “Alright…”

You know what, why the hell not. Why not give it a shot after all? If you ignore the psychopath and all the madness, if the only thing you take into account is his physical appearance, I admit he’s actually pretty decent. Maybe that can be enough for one night.

And if there’s truly nothing underneath the shells, then at least this will settle the debt I owe him for reconsidering his plans to attack Walker.

I get up from my chair, come over to him and sit down next to him on the edge of the bed.

He stares at me, wide-eyed. Hard to say whether that’s his genuine surprise that his intentions may now work out after all or whether it’s because he’s starting to regret his persistence.

I don’t care. He was the one who came by my place with the intention of getting laid. So if he wants to chicken out now, he better make up his mind soon. Slowly, I lean in to him, close my eyes and kiss him again softly, my lips gently touching his, just like I did back at the barracks.

But he immediately reverts back into the shop window dummy.

_You gotta be kidding me?!_ Didn’t he just say he wanted this? Then why does he still not go along with it? Well then, fine, some more grace period for you.

I grab a handful of his shirt and pull it over his head, and at least here he does help a little. And turns out at least in this regard I’m not disappointed. He’s actually in pretty good shape, the farm boy, but so am I, thanks to all those endless months on the run, fighting, surviving.

He doesn’t flinch or shudder as I run my hand across his naked skin, over his chest and further down towards his abs. All he does is close his eyes, tilting his head to the side slightly, as if losing himself in some kind of trance. Another kiss to his jaw, my lips softly caressing the stubbles there, then I trail my lips along his neck even more savoring, until I reach his chest.

His breaths end up shallower now and eventually he does wince at my touch. I slowly start feeling a little light-headed as well, and even though he could stop me anytime, he doesn’t. My hand reaches for his, and to make up for his lack of active contribution, I guide it onto my body, finally make him touch me as well, let it run over the bare skin of my back. For a second, I must have held my breath, as suddenly I catch myself gasping for air. He doesn’t continue the movement once I let go of his hand, but at least he keeps it lingering right there on my side, an electrifying, prickling sensation.

Another kiss to his neck, and I finally manage to evoke a tiny moan from him once that kiss is followed by a not-so-gentle suck at his skin. He tenses again a second later however, taking a sharp breath when suddenly he feels my hands at the buckle of his belt – just a quick movement of my fingers and it’s open. Then my hand’s back on his chest and I’m pushing him back on the bed.

He stares up at me with a mixture of resolve and fear in his eyes, as I move on top of him, straddling his hips.

I lean down to steal another kiss, but still he doesn’t return it. Geez, why do I get the feeling this is going to be a rather one-sided show?

Pff, whatever, so be it then. This is what he came for, this is what he’s gonna get. Set the record straight, that’s all it’ll be then. I don’t mind. Keep your friends close, keep your enemies closer. I was determined to stick to this with Troy from the very beginning. So here we are.

I unbuckle my belt as well.

You can’t get any closer than this.

 

***

 

Sometime later that night, I’m awakened by some hustle. Drowsily, I open my eyes, just to catch Troy in the middle of taking off. Putting on his shirt, he notices me awake.

The look in his eyes speaks volumes. “This was a mistake,” he informs me, voice quiet but dark.

Running the back of my hand across my forehead, I prop myself on one elbow to be better able to look at him. Wait a minute… What is going on here? A mistake? For a second, his words feel like a knife driven in my heart. Not because it hurts my feelings that he apparently didn’t like it. The real slap in the face is the fact that he arrogates himself to judge over that, he who didn’t contribute _at all_ , who did nothing but enjoy, without giving anything back in return.

“Ha!” I let out a hysterical laugh. _A mistake!_ Considering everything I did to make this work anyway, I add with a growl, “Yeah, you’re welcome.”

Hastily he ties his shoes, so eager to get away.

The fact that he doesn’t apologize even though it’s obvious I’m angered by this only fuels my irritation. Oh, Troy, I pity you so much. Just who do you think you are, coming here to my place, demanding for me to sleep with you, and once I actually go along with it, you freeze all over again like a deer caught in the headlights. I worked for two, worked my ass off just to get us to the happy ending after all, and instead of showing some gratitude that I actually did you this favor even against my initial resolve, _you_ tell _me_ this was a mistake?! Do you even hear yourself talking? If anyone has the right to judge over that, it’s me.

“You do realize I did a pretty decent job for what I was confronted with,” I tell him, because I can’t let him get away with this.

He doesn’t react, instead keeps hurrying for the door.

“Yeah, Troy, better believe it,” I call after him, voice raspy with anger. “The one who sucks at this is you!”

All I get for an answer is the door shut.

Shaking my head with a disbelieving snort I roll to my side and pull the blanket back over my head. “Asshole.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for this cliffhanger, but you have to hit rock bottom before things can get better, right? :) I'll make it up to you in the next chapter, promised!


	4. The Caring Boy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter four already, wow! We're getting close to the finale! And after all this manipulating and cold-heartedness from Nick, we're finally heading into romance territory :)  
> Thank you again, everyone who commented and left their kudos, your support on this story makes me so incredibly happy!  
> Hope you'll enjoy this new turn in their relationship!

The rest of the night I toss and turn in a restless sleep. I’m being plagued by visions of Troy taking revenge on my family, hurting Alicia and my mom to punish me for my cruel words.

 _You know what he did when he felt rejected by a friend,_ I hear my mom’s voice over and over again, _I don’t even wanna imagine what he’s going to do if he feels rejected by a lover._

Eventually dawn breaks and the darkness fades, but even daylight doesn’t help at all to keep the sinister thoughts at bay. Every time I hear a car’s engine roar outside, I rush to the window, my heart wrenching, fearing it’s Troy going to meet my mom and Alicia on their way back, just like he went after Mike and his family to slaughter them in cold blood.

It doesn’t help that it’s an exceptionally cold and cloudy fall day, with thick layers of fog covering the world in an impenetrable white – a depressing day mirroring my own gloomy feelings so perfectly.

By noon, there’s still no trace of our water pump party, but it’s not like that’s a surprise considering the weather. You can barely see your hand in front of your face, and I’m starting to doubt they’ll be able to make it back today at all. Considering the situation, this delay is nearly killing me. All I want is to have them with me, to be sure they’re alright. To be able to keep the raging Troys of this world as far away from them as possible.

_Yeah, let’s hope you can. Otherwise I fear it’s all of us paying the price._

So turns out that dreaded moment my mother had warned me of may have come sooner than expected. But then again, the more I think about last night, the more I get the feeling I’ve stumbled into some kind of trap, that in some strange, obscure way, this time it was actually me, the one being played. Something was off. Something had been off all along, but last night I hadn’t been able to put my finger on it. This entire visit, the bold demand to have sex – it didn’t seem right from the very start. I’d attributed it to his social inability, but maybe by shrugging it off like that I’ve fatally underestimated him.

Had he grown suspicious of my sudden lovestruck behavior in the barracks after all, paying me this visit to actually put my sincerity to the test? See how far I’d actually be willing to go on my bold claims? But then why this profound lethargy once his plan turned out a success after all? It doesn’t make any sense!

Well, I guess it’s idle to think about it now anyway. Whether or not I’d actually been confronted with a countermove from his side, it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve ended up ruining my own game after all by lashing out at him like that. Why? Just why on Earth had I allowed myself to get carried away like that, insulting him so aggressively against my better judgement? Yeah, that night had been one giant failure, but I could have just swallowed my anger. I could have just condoned the way he’d behaved, kept up my charade instead of letting my true colors shine through my mask so obviously.

By late afternoon, I can’t bear it anymore. The waiting, the uncertainty and this vicious circle of dark thoughts end up getting the better of me. So eventually, I find myself on the makeshift gravel path leading towards the Ottos’ house, determined to apologize for my harsh words and generally the way the night has ended. I need to appease him, make sure he doesn’t hold a grudge against me. It’s the only way I can put my mind at ease. The only way to make sure I didn’t end up compromising my own Grand Cause.

The zipper of my jacket pulled all the way up to my chin, I’m trying to shield off the creeping cold that seems to radiate from the thick mist covering the ranch. Finally, I reach the porch of the old house, climbing the stairs that lead up to the front door and since hesitating will only make it harder, I knock right away.

For several seconds nothing at all happens, and the thought of him being outside _somewhere_ only fuels my uneasiness. Nervously, I keep shifting from one leg to the other. Are any of the windows lit? Not from what I can tell, but then again, it’s still afternoon. And then, eventually, there’s footsteps after all.

Troy opens, and for no reason at all I startle. It’s somehow strange to see his face again after all that’s happened – not vaguely and blurred in the flickering dim light of the lamp on my table, but in milky daylight, sharp and crisp in every detail. His eyes are piercing – and strangely I’m not entirely sure my worry’s the only reason they send shivers down my spine.

I don’t get to stare at him for too long though, since as soon as he sees me, his opening movement stops and immediately reverses – shutting the door in my face.

“Troy, wait,” I say, getting my foot in the door at the last second. “Please, I’m here to explain.”

“There’s no need to explain,” he counters. “Everything’s been said and done.”

“I want to apologize,” I tell him, now putting my hands on the door as well to push.

He doesn’t brace himself against the door, probably not willing to play along in this childish struggle, so the door swings open without resistance and we’re face to face with each other once more.

He’s angry, I notice right away. Reeeally angry.

“Then spit it out for Christ’s sake,” he orders me, “and get the hell outta here.”

I’m not wasting any time, but take a deep breath. I pray that I somehow manage to sound earnest. “I’m so sorry for what I said to you last night. I didn’t mean it. It came out the wrong way.”

Making this up as I go. Taking all the blame myself even though it couldn’t be farther away from the truth. To me, it’s still him who misbehaved – ploy or not –, first demanding so boldly, then taking without giving anything back, and in the end effectively slapping me in the face.

Yet here I am, acting like the repentant sinner.

“It seemed pretty clear to me,” he insists, about to start a second attempt in closing the door.

“Yeah, I know,” I admit, “but truth is, I only said it because I was hurt. You hurt me.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he objects quickly.

_Yeah, no arguing that!_

“You said it was a mistake,” I explain. “But to me, last night meant something.” Way to go, Pinocchio! “I didn’t want you to think of it as a mistake. That hurt me. I didn’t want to believe that apparently you didn’t feel the same way.” Casting my eyes to the ground. “But lashing out at you like that wasn’t fair, and I didn’t mean it. I know I can’t force you to feel anything for me, of course not. So please forgive me.”

I give him a shy glance, dreading how he might react, but he just looks back at me with an unreadable expression. “That’s not what I meant by ‘mistake’,” he says eventually, meeting my eyes. Then his gaze is trailing off, and he goes on with a quiet murmur. “That moment in the barracks felt so weird. I’d been convinced it was an act.”

I startle, swallowing hard.

“I’d been convinced you’d send me away when I came to you last night,” he whispers. “Then you started stalling, and I thought that proved me right. But then, after all…” he trails off with a frown, shaking his head. “I guess I freaked out a little in the end.”

I’m entirely speechless as he says this, staring at him wide-eyed. So I’d been right after all? It had been a test?! But whereas I’d feared last night had effectively ruined my plans, turns out, on the contrary, I’ve accidentally given him proof my feelings were genuine, a fact he’s actually been doubting all this time I’d been assuming he’d bought it. For a moment, my mind starts spinning as the puzzle pieces rearrange.

So this is actually a good thing, isn’t it? The cards I’m holding now all of a sudden and unexpectedly significantly more powerful than ever before.

But then why? Why can’t I seem to feel any happiness about that at all?

“Troy!” My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rushed footsteps coming towards us, a voice calling with panic.

Immediately, Troy looks up and I turn around. At that moment a figure emerges from the thick fog surrounding us. One of the younger members of the militia, a girl named Alex. She seems out of breath when she reaches us, her face pale as a ghost’s. “Come quick,” she pleads, waving her hand. “Coop’s back from the water pump mission.” Clarifying, “Only Coop.”

 

The actual meaning of these words takes a few seconds to sink in. But once it does, I can’t describe the horror that’s suddenly tearing my heart apart. Before I’m able to grasp a clear thought, we’re already on our way, sprinting all the way down to the center of the ranch, the fog clouding our surroundings just as my fear clouds my mind. I should be exhausted from the crazy pace we’re going at, but the sweat on my forehead feels as cold as ice.

 _No. No, no, no, no!!!_ A voice keeps screaming inside my head. It can’t be. Please, _NO_!

After an eternity of unbearable uncertainty, we eventually reach the infirmary – but the sight that awaits us there startles us all: A whole bunch of people has gathered around the bed Coop sits in, the buzz of voices so loud you can’t even hear your own word.

“What on Earth is going on here?!” Alex asks, shaking her head at the commotion, as we try to make our way to Coop.

Everyone seems to be pelting him with questions on the mission and on the whereabouts of their loved ones – which I can’t even blame them for. Because just like them, all I can think of is my family.

“That’s enough!” Troy suddenly yells and the level of noise dies down a little.

Coop turns his head towards us and our eyes meet. There’s resignation and worry in his face, and it nearly breaks my heart.

“Everybody out!” Troy orders with a growl. “Only militia stays.”

An elderly woman, Mrs. Franks, turns to Troy. “We won’t leave, Troy,” she tells him outright. “My son and daughter-in-law are on that mission. I need to know if they’re alright!”

“Everyone is worried about their loved ones, Mrs. Franks,” Troy tells her bluntly. “But we can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on. So the faster we can talk to Coop, the faster we can help.”

Most of the crowd complies and turns around to leave. Mrs. Franks however keeps looking at Troy for several blinks, then shakes her head. “I won’t leave until I know what’s going on!”

“Nick, Alex,” Troy calls us over to deal with her, as he himself pushes past her towards Coop.

My legs automatically move to comply, taking a few steps towards Mrs. Franks, but the rest of my body holds me back. I need to know what Coop tells Troy. I need to know my mom and Alicia are okay.

Alex isn’t slowed down by any inner turmoil, so at least she’s with Mrs. Franks right away, putting her hand empathically on the woman’s shoulder. “Please, Mrs. Franks, you have to wait outside. We’ll let you know immediately as soon as we find out what’s happened…”Her voice trails off as she leads her out of the infirmary.

For a moment, the only ones who remain in the room with Coop are Troy and me.

I can understand Mrs. Franks all too well. All I wanna do is to rush right to Coop’s bed as well and drill him with questions of my own, but Troy’s our leader. My job is to stand here and listen.

“We were taken, Troy,” the bearded militiaman says with a troubled voice, looking away. “It was a gang of four, maybe five people. They came at us when we made camp. The water supplies must have drawn them to us.”

“Taken where?” Troy asks slowly. “Was anyone hurt?”

Alex reappears, stopping next to me.

“No, I don’t think so,” Coop replies. “They wanted to know where we got all that water from, that’s their one and only goal. If they let the situation get out of hands, they may never find out. So they acted very careful.” He looks at Troy with stern eyes. “They took us all to some warehouse nearby, their basis I guess,” Coop goes on. “On our way there, I broke free and got away, but I was the only one.”

“Then you have to lead us to them,” I burst out without wanting to. Everyone turns their eyes to me and I turn my eyes to Troy. “We have to save them,” I add, a little more reserved this time.

Coop gives me an empathic look, but shakes his head. “I’ve never seen fog this dense before. Been living here for twenty years, almost didn’t find my way back to the ranch. It’ll be dark any minute, too. Won’t make it any easier.”

“So what are you saying?” I whisper, unbelieving. “We just wait here and do nothing while these assholes kill our families?!”

“Nick,” Troy warns me.

Coop on the other hand tries to reassure me. “They won’t risk losing their chance on getting to the water pump, Nick. Trust me.”

“It doesn’t take twenty people to tell a location,” I insist. “We have to hurry!”

“Hurry where?” Troy shakes his head at me. “They’re long gone anyway. Coop got away, so they have to expect reinforcement. No way they’re still at that warehouse.”

“Actually I think they are,” Coop counters. “It’s not that easy to relocate that many hostages, especially not with a fog like this. My guess is they’re trapped at the warehouse just as we’re trapped at the ranch.”

Now it’s Alex turning to Coop with a hopeful voice. “But you managed to memorize the way back to the warehouse, didn’t you?”

“Saved the coords in the nav,” Coop nods, and at least that’s a relief. “Not immediately – I was busy hauling ass at first, but I did it as soon as I could risk a break. So at least I can get us close.”

“Alright,” Troy says eventually. “We’ll head out as soon as the fog clears.”

“As soon as the fog clears,” I repeated with a disdainful snort, then giving Troy and Coop a sharp look. “How nice it must be if everyone you care about is perfectly safe here at the ranch?”

With that I turn around, push past Alex and head outside, plunging right back into this freaking, goddamn fog.

 

The world around me seems to be frozen in time, the mist not only taking most of my sight, but also numbing any noises around me, giving the ranch – now lying in total darkness – the aura of a creepy, abandoned ghost town. Through the cold and all-consuming grayness, I hurry back to the cottage, desperately trying to clear my head.

“Nick,” I suddenly hear a voice behind me, distant, but catching up nevertheless.

It only gets me to speed up my pace.

“Nick.”

I push open the door and barge in, spinning round as soon as I hear the footsteps on the threshold.

“ _Why_ do you keep following me?!” I yell at him, my fear, my pain, my confusion, my frustration, all cumulating in that one question. “What do you _want_ from me?!”

My words fade and silence settles over the cottage. For a while, we just stand there, staring at each other, Troy on the doorframe, the impenetrable fog in his back, me in the room, hands trembling and heart racing.

“Just wanted to make sure you don’t do anything stupid,” he eventually replies, voice quiet and steady.

“Like what?” I counter, succeeding in making it sound more like an accusation than a question.

Eyeing me closely, he replies, unfazed, “Like mindlessly rushing out into the fog to go after them.”

“And even if I did,” I hiss, “what is it to you?!”

He pauses for a moment, then explains, all business, “Half of my men are missing out there. We need to protect the ranch. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.” And as I don’t reply, he goes on, “I’m in command here. You have to do as I say.”

“Haven’t I done so enough already?” I growl at that, nearly spitting the words in his face. And either he actually doesn’t get what I’m referring to, or he’s just very good at acting unfazed.

“We’re not the only ones running short on water,” he reminds me. “It’s the same for Walker and his people. Sooner or later they’ll be faced with the same choice as us. Keep the peace or keep their lives. And I wouldn’t bet they go with the noble option as well.”

“Noble option, _noble_ option!” I repeat, shaking my head vehemently. “Screw the noble option!” Defiantly, I hold his eyes. “I wanted to do the _right_ thing, I fought _so hard_ to do the right thing! Now look where it got me!” I’m yelling at him, even though none of this is his fault. “It’s all _my_ fault,” I whisper, running my hands through my hair as I turn away. “You said it from the start: It’s a risk we shouldn’t take. But I convinced you otherwise.”

Crestfallen, I sit down on the edge of my bed. “We should have gone with the average but safe option. We should have taken back Walker’s resources. I should have listened to you.” Resting my elbows on my knees, burying my face in my hands. “I blew it.”

I hear him close the door, and now with the cold shut out, the room starts to feel a little warmer. Then footsteps. He’s slowly coming towards me. I wonder if this means he’s still not convinced that I won’t do anything rash tonight. Maybe I’m not even convinced myself.

To be honest, this constant fear is becoming too much for me to bear. I woke up this morning scared my mother and sister might be murdered by a bloodthirsty psychopath I riled up – now I’m gonna fall asleep scared they might be murdered by some random strangers whose arms I practically drove them into. And whereas I could at least somewhat keep an eye on Troy, now there’s nothing at all I can do to protect them. Nothing at all.

How is this fair? We ran from our home, from our city battling armies of dead. We’ve overcome so many obstacles and dangers. We’ve suffered, lost each other time and again, even ourselves sometimes, but in the end, we’ve always been victorious. We’re alive.

It can’t be. It just cannot be they’re supposed to meet their ends on some stupid, ridiculous supply run. A supply run that would have never happened if I hadn’t meddled. “If anything happens to them now, this is all on me. Damn it…”

The only response is silence. The light flickering on the table.

And at that moment, I wince. A touch, unexpected and unfamiliar, a hand running through my hair, softly. I don’t understand what’s going on, my entire body suddenly on high alert, until slowly and gently I’m being pulled into an embrace, and a few blinks later I find my head resting against Troy’s shirt.

I don’t resist – I’m still far too taken by surprise to do anything about it –, my pulse taking a while to normalize. Of all the possible ways this moment could have played out, this wouldn’t have ever been on my list. And yet here we are, his hand softly cupping the back of my head, my cheek buried in the fabric of his shirt.

A strange melancholy weighs down on my heart. To receive kindness like that in such a dark hour and on top of that from someone you’d never ever expect, makes my heart shatter into a thousand pieces. An old saying crosses my mind, one I only remember vaguely or maybe I’ve even made it up myself. Something about a common flower that’s suddenly precious when you come across it in the wasteland.

A mere gesture like that can sooth the human soul. It’s a primal instinct reassuring you you’re not alone. This primal instinct of mine naturally doesn’t have a clue (and probably also doesn’t give a shit) that these sheltering arms actually belong to Troy Otto, who – regardless of his unexpected momentary benevolence – would be the last person to depend on or expect anything from if I actually do end up losing my family tonight. But maybe right here and now, that doesn’t matter. Maybe this primal fallacy is the one thing I need to get me through this night.

Indeed, the fabric of his shirt feels so soft against my cheek, the warmth of his body radiating from underneath. Faced with all the worries and fears in my heart, his warmth seems like a beacon of light to me, guiding me through the darkness, leading me to safety, reassuring me I’m not alone.

And in this very moment of weakness, I give in to that comforting sensation, and slowly wrap my arms around his waist.

For a long while we just stay there like this and the longer the embrace lasts, the more I dread the coldness I’ll be left with once he draws back. Then the shadows will return, the dark thoughts will be back and I’ll be left to face them alone. _No! Please, no…_

“Stay,” I whisper after a while, knowing I need the warmth of another person to keep my heart from breaking. “Please. Just stay – nothing more. I can’t get through this night alone.”

There’s no reply at first, and my heart grows heavy as I think I already know what kind of answer he’s giving me. Then however, his voice breaks the silence after all. “I can’t,” he declines, just as I’d feared. “I’m not… good at stuff like that.”

“No?” I murmur hoarsely, my arms still wrapped tight around him, not ready to let go. “Because I think you are. I think you’re actually very good at this. You’ve just forgotten about it.”

Silence returns to the room once more, and eventually I hear him take a deep breath. “You’re wrong.”

“But I heard a story, about a boy,” I go on, softly whispering against the fabric of his shirt, “with his mother on her deathbed. They say it got ugly towards the end. They say it was her little son who took care of her, fed her, bathed her, stayed by her side. While she lashed out at him, yelled at him, insulted him.”

I feel him tense as I say this. “That boy is gone,” he tells me after a while, his voice however unable to cover up the fact he’s struggling to keep it steady.

“Is he?” I counter once more, this time letting go of him after all. I sit back and look up at him to catch his eyes, earnestly. “Because I think that boy is standing right in front of me. He just buried that part of him deep, deep inside, underneath a thousand layers of stone.”

His eyes meet mine, and there it is again, the same expression I saw after I kissed him in the barracks: A startled look, maybe even shocked, but in a way distant too, as if I’d just told him a terrifying secret – but a secret about someone else.

“You took care of someone once and that person didn’t appreciate it,” I go on, pleadingly. “Maybe they even _couldn’t_.” Shaking my head. “But that’s not on you, Troy. It’s on them. Don’t let this be the reason for you to turn your back on others who might need you. _Please_.”

I reach out my hand to him.

He averts his eyes, seems to think about my words for a long time.

Then however he turns away after all and heads for the door.

 _Alright_ , I think, disappointment, maybe even loss weighing on my heart. _I tried_. I gave it all I had to convince him. If even that wasn’t enough, what else would it take to get him to remember the person that has to be in there somewhere still, the one he’s locked away in the darkest depths of this soul?

He’s reached the door and I’m already bracing myself to take the cold that’s gonna flood in as soon as he opens – and this time is gonna stay –, when suddenly he doesn’t reach for the handle. He bends down instead. I frown, not understanding at first what he’s doing, until I see it: He’s untying his boots.

A mixture of surprise, relief and anxiety surges through my heart all at once, and once he’s done, he turns around to face me. Hard to read once again, the look in his eyes. Maybe he’s cursing himself for giving in. Maybe he’s scared of not being able to reawaken that boy from long ago after all. Maybe he’s afraid he might disappoint me. Regardless of what he’s feeling, he slowly comes back to me, then climbs onto the bed next to me and slides over all the way to the wall.

I untie my shoes as well, then turn around and follow him quickly, scared he might change his mind if I let him wait too long. With one long, sincere look in his eyes, I settle down next to him, wrap my arms around him once more. Yeah, it feels wrong in a way. Maybe even more wrong than everything that has happened right here on this very spot last night.

And yet. As I lie here and feel him slowly put his arm around my shoulder, feel his warmth against me, his breath calm and steady in the silence, my pain and anxiety feel a little easier to bear.

And I know it’s true, at least for this one night: He’s the anchor keeping me from falling into the darkness.


	5. The Grand Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again, everyone! I have to admit, the reactions to the previous chapter really overwhelmed me and warmed my heart! I'm so happy to hear so many of you enjoyed this tender moment between Nick and Troy so much!  
> So as promised, here we go with the final chapter that concludes the story :) I hope you'll enjoy the "grand finale" :)

I must have fallen asleep eventually, because when I re-open my eyes, the room’s no longer pitch black. The outlines of the furniture are already discernable. I shift on my mattress, still disoriented, remembering only after a few blinks that I hadn’t been alone when I closed my eyes.

I am now, and the spot where Troy lay feels cold. Strangely, this hurts me, even though I cannot even tell exactly why.

There’s noise coming from outside, an extremely annoying noise – and suddenly I realize it’s actually the honking of a car horn. Was that the reason I woke up?

Frowning, I crawl out of bed – still wearing yesterday’s clothes –, and shuffle over to the window to take a look outside.

“There he is,” someone calls. “Come on, sleepyhead, we’re moving!”

The world’s a milky morning white, the fog still there, and I notice a fresh breeze rustling through the branches of the trees. I squint my eyes against the brightness, and a bit further down on the road I spot a few cars waiting in line, the first one with its front side window down, and to my surprise there’s Troy waving at me.

“Come on,” he yells once more. “Grab your gun and get your ass down here! There’s no time to waste.”

He’s crazy! He’s totally crazy! That’s all I can think as I turn away from the window. Helplessly I look around the room, trying to get my stuff together. _The fatigues!_   In a hurry, I change into my military pants, then slip on my camouflage jacket. Ten seconds brushing my teeth, because that’s just the one thing that’s not optional in my opinion, and here I am, hurrying through the door, gun in hand.

Just for principle, apparently, Troy honks again when he sees me, earning himself an annoyed frown from my direction.

“Are you crazy making noise like that,” I snap at him, pulling open the passenger door. “You’re waking the entire ranch.”

“I’m waking _you_ ,” he tells me, starting the engine.

“You could have _knocked_ ,” I point out, sliding in and shutting the door.

“For that I would have needed to get out of the car,” he shrugs bluntly.

“Lazybones,” I snort, belting up.

Troy motions out of the window and right away the car behind us swings out, overtaking us. As soon as it passes us, I see there’s Coop behind the wheel, Alex on the passenger seat, both greeting me with a wave of their hands.

Troy starts the truck as well, falling in line behind them, and with a quick glance in the rear mirror I realize there’s two more cars following us.

“Four cars, eight people, and twelve spare seats in case we don’t get all of our trucks back,” Troy explains, as we drive through the ranch gate and plunge into the wilderness.

“You’ve apparently thought this through,” I notice, resting my elbow against the side door. “Sounds like we’re well equipped.”

I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this right now. Minutes ago, I was asleep. Now I’m in the middle of a rescue mission that was supposed to be postponed for the time being. Being plunged in at the deep end like that, my trickiest challenge seems to be to get my head in the game.

Alright, so here we go, I think, bracing myself. Alicia, Mom, Paul, everyone else… You better be hanging in there! We’re on our way.

In all honesty, I’m far from in the shape for such a critical mission. I’m neither calm nor collected, but at least I’m somewhat well-rested and therefore concentrated – and I’m aware a major credit for that goes to Troy Otto, my frenemy who was there for me when I needed him, me, the one who’s playing such a foul game with him.

A strange feeling of guilt seems to burden my heart all of a sudden. Is that my bad conscience finally kicking in? Or is it maybe even…

I shoot him a glance from the side. “Thank you, by the way,” I say, voice quiet and sincere.

“No need,” he counters, returning my look for a second before turning his eyes back on the road. “I told you we’d head out as soon as the fog clears a little, didn’t I.”

“Yeah,” I reply, and suddenly I feel a quick, weak smile brushing over my face. Truth is, the fog hasn’t cleared in the slightest. It’s just morning. The fog itself is still as dense as last night. He must be aware of that, too, but I don’t say anything.

I realize this was the reason he was gone in the morning: To assemble the rescue squad, get them ready to head out at first daylight, against his better judgement. And why? To end my suffering from this unbearable uncertainty as soon as possible, to help me save the ones I love before any more harm comes to them. He’s doing this solely for me, I’m aware of that. And it touches me at the very core of my heart.

So after a short while, I add, “But I wasn’t just talking about the rescue squad, you know.” Turning my eyes back to him, unsure how he’ll react to that.

“Yeah, uhm…” He keeps his eyes strictly fixed on the road this time. “It was nothing…” This comes out as just a vague mumbling, barely hearable over the engine, so I startle all the more when all of a sudden he’s yelling: “Bloody hell, you’re tailgating, Liam!!” he shouts out of the window, waving at the car behind us. “Yeah, I’m talking to you! Keep your freaking distance!”

Liam replies by flashing us, but complies and falls back a little anyway.

“Sheesh.” Troy turns back to me. “That idiot just can’t drive. He was this close to crashing into us,” he explains, voice almost a bit sheepish at this obvious over-reaction, like he felt the need to justify it to me.

I stare at him wide-eyed at first, but then I can’t help finding it endearing. He _can_ be sweet when he’s acting clumsy like that, there’s no denying that. It’s just too obvious that my thanking him for his caring last night embarrassed him so much, he used this as an excuse to change the subject. _Sorry, Liam_ , I apologize in my head. _My fault you got this ticking-off from Troy._

Strange though I feel this way now when I’m around Troy. Like everything’s going to be okay, in a way. Good, even. It’s never been like that before. I wonder if all of that’s just because of last night? Did those tender moments really change anything between us? I guess in the end only time will tell.

 

So for like two hours we’re weaving our way through the fog, only slowly making progress. At times, the mist is so dense we can only go at walking speed. At least there’s one advantage to all of this: With a fog like that, no one will _ever_ be seeing us coming, figuratively as well as literally.

“Want me to take over for a change?” I ask Troy after a while.

“Why?” he counters, immediately sounding offended. “You think you can go faster?” He thinks I’m criticizing his driving style.

“No, I just think it must be exhausting,” I clarify, “going this slow and staying concentrated at the same time.”

“Oh,” he murmurs, realizing I genuinely wanted to help. “Maybe later.”

“Anytime,” I offer again. “Just let me know.”

Generally, I think he actually intended on taking me on that offer, but it doesn’t come to that, since not even five minutes later, Coop slows down and eventually pulls over at the side of the road.

My heartrate speeds up immediately, adrenaline pumping through my entire body. Grabbing our jackets and gear, we jump out of the car and Troy gathers everyone around us. My nervousness almost stuns me for a moment. Earlier, I couldn’t get here fast enough to save my family. Now I realize the moment of truth has come. Whether they’re alright and just scared or already roaming the warehouse as walking dead, I’ll find out in a few minutes. Either way, my grace period of blessed ignorance is over.

Sticking together closely, we follow Coop in whatever direction he thinks he remembers the warehouse to be from his overhasty getaway in fog and darkness, keeping our eyes open for distinctive landscape features he might recall. At first, nothing strikes him as familiar, but then, after wandering around the area for about half an hour, we stumble onto an illegal waste disposal at the edge of the woods, and Coop informs us they came past this when the raiders led them to the warehouse. So the rest of the way to our enemies’ lair is nothing but a cinch to him.

So now the stealth part begins, but of course the fog serves as the perfect cover for us.

“Looks like they’re still here,” Coop whispers, as we sneak past the cars parked in front of the warehouse, some of them ours. “We’re lucky.”

“Let’s hope our people have been lucky, too,” Alex points out and I agree from the bottom of my heart.

We scout the area surrounding the warehouse. Apparently there are two entrances: a door on the east side of the building and a cargo ramp at the west side.

“We’ll split into two groups, four people each, go in simultaneously,” Troy instructs us. “You guys take the right entrance with Coop, the rest takes the left one with me.”

I’m on Coop’s team.

“What about the raiders?” Liam wants to know. “Shall we take them captive or–“

_Kill them_ , I think with a cold-heartedness that even shocks me myself for a moment. But I can’t help it. This profound hatred for our enemies is what keeps me going right now, in this very moment. _Kill anyone who gets in our way. No mercy for those bastards._

“Eliminate,” Troy orders and when our eyes meet, I nod at him bitterly. He then turns back to Liam. “We can’t take the risk of them hurting our people any more. Besides, they know about the water. If we let them live, they might come after us or set another trap next time we go back to the pump.”

Exactly. The only right decision, Troy, even if it’s a drastic one. I’m with you all the way.

He lets his eyes wander across our group. “We’ll each use our explosives to break the doors. Then infiltrate, neutralize the enemy, secure the room. And so on, until we meet up again inside.”

We all nod with determination in our eyes and Troy and Coop quickly synchronize their watches. Then both our groups get in position, waiting for the seconds to count down to 3:20.

I suddenly feel strangely calm. It’s as if another being had taken over my body, an entity without feelings, driven only by one almighty goal. To keep safe what it loves.

Coop’s watch starts beeping, then Alex hits the button to blow up the door. A deafening crack of thunder echoes through the woods, immediately followed by a second one, the one from Troy’s team. Guns at the ready, we don’t waste any time. Coop barges in first, the rest of us following closely on his heels.

 

The raiders don’t know what hit them. When we get in, we take two of them down immediately – a ginger young man and a middle-aged woman with a ponytail –, so now there’s only one of them left in the room, an Asian-looking man. He hastily takes cover behind a few barrels – and so do we. Gunshots fill the huge hall, but it’s four against one. Slowly but surely we close in on him, and in one moment of negligence, we overwhelm him – and in the end, it’s my bullet that takes him down.

My second kill.

No. My second _murder_. And it was so easy.

Maybe this time’s different because the raider has clearly been our enemy and a threat, or maybe it’s only the first time that’s actually hard. But in contrast to Jeremiah Otto, who still haunts my dreams and will forever roam the darkest place of my soul, this time I feel nothing.

Then the door to the adherent room swings open and we all yank our guns around, when it’s Liam who appears in the doorframe. “All clear,” he announces and we lower our weapons.

“Here as well,” Coop replies. “Three targets neutralized.”

“Two over here,” Liam replies, then the other members of his team join us.

“Unless they had backup, I’d say that’s all of them,” Coop says, looking around.

“Alright, stay on alert, everyone,” Troy commands. “Will and Cory, secure the entrances. The explosions might have drawn walkers our way. Everyone else, search the place.”

We spread out again. The first one of the two main halls of the warehouse is stuffed with huge containers and construction materials, all of them creating a sort of labyrinth of its own. That’s why even though all’s quiet around us, we keep our weapons at the ready at every corner we turn – just in case someone’s still hiding in all this mess, waiting for the right moment to come at us.

In one of the corners Coop and I come across what seems to be the gang’s camp – sleeping bags, guns, canned food, bottles and jerrycans of water. _Our_ jerrycans to be precise. So looks like we’ll get our supplies back, that’s something for a start. Our solar panels as well, as Alex informs us seconds later from the other end of the hall.

Aside from that, there is nothing in this hall, no cells, no secret rooms, no hostages. The other hall, then. Confident we’ll be more successful over there, I make my way back to the others, when I suddenly hear voices coming from the entrance, slightly aggressive voices.

Uneasy and confused, I turn around, check if everything’s alright. That’s when I find Troy, Coop and the biggest part of our squad standing around one of the dead raiders, the guy I put down.

Troy’s getting all worked up about something, snapping at the others. “You can’t honestly tell me no one took the time! Haven’t you learned anything?! This would have been invaluable information, and thanks to you it’s lost forever!”

Of course, his _research_ again, who would have guessed. Once you figure out how Troy’s wired, he’s actually quite predictable. Because the fact that an Asian person would pique his interest, I did indeed anticipate.

“I took the time,” I suddenly say, and everyone’s turning around to look at me. “That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” I point at the dead body at Troy’s feet. “The time he died.”

Troy shoots me a long, intense look, mistrusting me.

“I was the one who put him down, so I took the time,” I say bluntly, holding Troy’s eyes.

“You never do that,” Troy objects. “So why would you now?”

“Because he’s Asian, and we’re at the Mexican border,” I explain. “You keep saying you want to find out if different people turn differently. So it wasn’t hard to guess you’d be hell-bent on knowing in this case.” I shrug. “I memorized the time after I shot him. He died at 3:26 and fifty seconds.”

For a few moments, no one reacts at all. Troy just stares at me, trying to figure me out, whereas the rest of the squad waits for their leader.

I pull back the sleeve of my jacket, proving I’m actually wearing a watch. “There you go. Happy now?”

Eventually, Troy breaks from his stupor. “What are you waiting for,” he snaps at Liam, “you heard what he said. Write it down. And then secure that bastard before he reanimates.”

Once Liam hurries off to fetch a pack of cable ties, Troy points at the large double door at the far side of the room. “The rest of you, examine the second hall. They have to be there. There’s no other way.”

I don’t have to be told twice. Gun at the ready once more, I hurry across the room with the rest of our squad. And even though I don’t turn around, I can feel Troy’s eyes following me, still not trusting me. _Can’t explain that for the life of me_ , I think to myself sarcastically, _considering I’ve always been so sincere with him_ …

 

The good news I’ve been so keen on hearing are finally delivered by Alex, who calls us over with urgency in her voice. “They’re here!! They’re all here!!”

I’m with her in the blink of an eye. She’s opened a fire door, revealing a small dark room, a boiler room maybe, and sitting on the floor – bound and gagged but thank God _alive_ – are our people.

“Alicia!” I call immediately, falling to my knees by my sister’s side, freeing her from the gag, cutting the cable ties around her wrist with my pocket knife. My mom, sitting beside her, is next. Overwhelmed, I wrap my arms around both of them as if I never ever intended on letting them go again.

“Thank God, thank God,” I whisper, holding them both close. “Are you hurt?”

“They were just after the water,” Alicia whispers back, burying her face in my jacket.

“I thought I’d lost you,” I tell them breathlessly, and even though I should be bursting with joy, right at this moment with them in my arms, I rather feel like crying.

“Honey…” Mom’s voice sounds weak as she kisses my head. “We’re alright… Everything’s alright…”

About half of our squad has joined me in hugging their loved ones they’re finally reunited with. The rest takes care of cutting the remaining cable ties.

Only Troy’s standing in the door all alone, his eyes on us, his expression stern – or after all that’s happened between us, I may be willing to take a second guess and say it’s actually loneliness.

“How did you even get here this fast with all that fog outside?” Mom wants to know, effectively drawing my attention back to her, as she eventually pulls back from me.

“The fog has cleared a little,” I reply, repeating Troy’s story even though I know it’s not really the truth. “Troy acted immediately and gathered a team for the rescue.” I turn around to wave him over, to include him in our reunion and make sure he gets the credit he deserves, but once I turn around I startle, staring at nothing but an empty threshold. He’s gone.

I don’t get to think about this for too long, since as soon as I try to help my mom and my sister back on their feet, Alicia’s legs give in – and I have to be quick to catch her before she tumbles.

“Alicia,” I call automatically. “What’s wrong?”

“Is it that bad?” Mom’s face looks worried as she helps her daughter sit back down.

“No, it’s just… it hurts more than I expected,” Alicia pants, rolling up her left pant leg. Her ankle is badly swollen.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, looking at her reproachfully – she told me she was alright! “What happened?!”

“When Coop broke free,” Mom informs me, “we tried to use the opportunity to escape as well. There was a bit of a struggle, but they overwhelmed us with their guns. Alicia twisted her ankle.”

“Pam,” I immediately call our medic, a middle-aged woman who was on Troy’s team during the infiltration. “Could you take a look at that?”

She does, and even though she insists on examining the injury more closely once we get back to the ranch, it looks like nothing’s broken and it’s just a sprain after all. So Mom and I support Alicia as we move her out of the boiler room and sit her down at the makeshift camp of the raider gang with everyone else who’d be taken hostage, supplying them with water and food to get them back to old strength.

 

A few hours later, the water pump squad is back on their feet, at least those who weren’t hurt like Alicia. Since it’s already starting to get dark, we decide to spend the night at the warehouse rather than venturing through the fog at night. Maybe in the morning – finally – the mist will clear.

It’s good to have an extra set of hands helping as we spend the rest of the evening retrieving our trucks and reloading them with our supplies (and also the useful stuff the raiders had gathered – they don’t mind, we checked). I’m carrying several jerrycans of water to load them back on one of our pick-ups, when I run into Troy once again, who’s pacing back and forth outside the warehouse entrance, talking to someone over the radio.

“No, I keep telling you, Jake, everyone’s alright, no one was harmed,” he insists. For a second, he looks up at me as I pass him, then turns his eyes away again, entirely focusing on the call. “Yes, even Alicia, totally unharmed – except for a swollen ankle.”

I set the canisters down next to the truck, then head back inside for another batch.

“Just the _ankle_ , Jake, geez, calm down!” Troy is still busy reassuring his brother when I return. “She’ll live, I promise you!”

When I pass him again, our eyes meet once more, and Troy rolls his eyes and makes a gesture at the radio, like Jake was making a fuss over nothing.

I end up shooting him a sympathetic grin.

Next to the truck, I set the jerrycans down, then climb the loading area of the pick-up to stow the water away canister by canister.

Once Troy’s done talking to Jake, he comes over to the car as well and starts helping me by handing me the cans.

“Seriously…” he sighs, shaking his head.

“Come on, he’s just worried about his girlfriend,” I defend Jake a little. “It’s kinda sweet.”

“Yeah, it’s okay to be worried,” Troy concedes, “but he was this close to planning her funeral.”

I can’t help chuckling, and seeing how this Alicia/Jake thing seems to get on his nerves right now, I can’t resist teasing him some more on this.

“Well, objectively you could show a little more concern about your _family_ , as well, you know,” I say.

“My family?” he repeats. “You do realize, Jake’s at home?”

“Alicia,” I correct with a smug grin. “Chances are the girl with the twisted ankle is gonna be your future sister-in-law.”

It’s intended as a joke of course (even though it might well be true), but judging by the wide-eyed look Troy gives me, he either doesn’t get it or–

_Oh, holy shit!_

I instinctively turn away as soon as I realize what I just ended up getting caught up in. There’s actually a second way for someone to become your sister-in-law. It’s not just the girl your brother marries. It’s also the sister of the person _you yourself_ marry.

He couldn’t possibly think I was implying… I mean, that wouldn’t make any… That’s totally… well, isn’t it?! “If Jake marries Alicia, I meant,” I try to save myself by clarifying, but I fear the hastiness I say this with gives away my embarrassment. Suddenly, I’m very keen on focusing back on the jerrycans.

Either way, thankfully, Troy doesn’t seem to be planning on dwelling on it. “I don’t know, I wouldn’t go that far,” he muses after a while. “They haven’t really known each other for long.”

“So what?” I shrug. “Maybe it’s not the amount of time spent with each other, but rather the quality that counts? A few meaningful moments may tell you more about a person than a hundred superficial ones.”

He gives me a long, skeptical look. I can tell he’s wondering whether I’m talking about us. I’m actually wondering, too.

Eventually, he asks, “You actually believe that?”

“I dunno,” I shrug, then crack a grin. “But it sure as hell made me sound wise.”

That unexpectedly gets him to laugh, and it’s a sweet, honest laugh, so unlike the sarcastic or wicked ones he’s given me so far. I wouldn’t mind seeing that more often.

I softly chuckle as well, taking the next few canisters from him.

“Hey, Nick,” he calls me after a short silence, face all serious again.

“Hm?” I start a new row of cans on the loading space.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Technically, you just did.”

Another good-natured chuckle, and I’m proud I managed to evoke a second one from him, but then he grows serious again. Speaking quietly, eyes focused on the jerrycans. “Did you actually take the time when you shot that guy? Or did you just make that up to appease me?”

I pause in my work and turn around to look at him, frowning. “I _did_ take the time,” I insist, then shake my head. “Why would I make that up? If I hadn’t done it, I could have just kept quiet.”

“It’s just,” Troy goes on, still not looking at me, “one wrong figure could distort the entire research.” Now meeting my eyes. “So I’d rather have you admit the time is wrong, than let it compromise all the data I’ve gathered so far.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that,” I assure him as I turn my back on the cans and jump off the loading area, getting us on eye level. “And I promise you, the time I told you is not fake.”

“Okay,” he nods, then looks away. By the troubled expression on his face I can tell he’s still reluctant to believe me. “I just don’t understand why.”

“I told you why,” I insist.

Shaking his head. “But I thought you despised my research. Why would you support it?”

“I don’t despise your research,” I point out, leaning back against the truck. “I despise your methods. I despise that innocent people had to die for it.” Dropping my gaze to the jerrycans at his feet. “But that guy wasn’t innocent. He was one of the people who took our people captive, and who were probably planning on torturing them to get the information they wanted. That’s the reason we killed him. So now that he’s dead anyway, why not put his death to some more use?” It’s a game of give and take, Troy. You showed me kindness last night, now I’m giving you something in return. “If it helps you understand this freaking shit a little better, if that knowledge makes it easier for us to protect the people we love…”

He stares at me for a long time, speechless, then I push myself off the truck and hop back onto the loading area. Taking the next can in my hands, I look down at him with an encouraging nod. “For the Grand Cause.”

He holds my eyes, his face earnest and sincere, and there’s also something else in his look, something I haven’t seen before. Appreciation. Gratitude. He nods. “For the Grand Cause.”

 

***

 

Anyone who’d hoped the fog would _actually_ clear, had been hoping in vain: The next morning we leave the warehouse and basically drive back to the ranch at walking speed. Ironically, not even half an hour after we’re finally arrived home, the sun breaks through the mist, chasing off even the most persistent fog patches and making way for a beautiful, warm and sunny fall afternoon.

With our loved ones back safe and sound, our water resources replenished, and Jake and Paul already working on a way of harvesting the water pump more easily and safely in the future, Mrs. Franks and a few other people from the ranch suggest having a little celebration in the evening, to welcome back our rescued family members.

Naturally, everyone’s immediately excited about it – when’s the last time anyone of us had a party? –, so right away a delicious stew is being prepared, lampions hung up, and games and activities prepared to entertain the children. They’re even planning an open bar (admittedly, an open bar with just water, but hey, an _open bar_!), and it’s little details like these that make us look forward to the festival – they remind us of a time when lampions and open bars actually mattered.

No one knew Alex was a gifted singer, so once she tells us, Liam and one of the medics dig out their guitars as well, and so we even have a musical act covered.

The most heartwarming thing about all of this however is to see the excitement and happiness in everyone’s eyes as the entire ranch works together on this, everyone contributing in their own way to make this night special, excited to finally let the festival begin at sunset.

In times like these, when any day can be your last, really, it’s moments like these we need to know we’re actually, truly still alive.

 

Later that night, with the festival in full swing and everyone having a great time, I stroll around looking for Troy, finally spotting him on the top of the southern watch tower, a dark silhouette against the moonlight.

He turns around once he hears me take the final steps up to the lookout, and a gentle smile softens his face as soon as he realizes it’s me.

I know I’m smiling, too.

“Everything alright down there?” I ask, nodding at the vast, dark landscape ahead.

“All’s quiet,” he replies, his eyes following me as I come over to him, leaning my elbows on the rail to gaze into the distance. He looks at me from the side. “How’re Madison and Alicia?”

Still smiling, “There’re fine, celebrating down there with the others.” Then I grin. “No dancing for Alicia, though. That seems to get to her, even though she’s too tough to admit it.”

“Might be her lucky day,” Troy shrugs. “I picture Jake stepping on her feet all the time.”

I chuckle, and his smile turns into a grin as well.

Only after a while I grow serious again.

Turning my head to him, “No, my mom and my sister are fine, and they’re back home with me. And that’s all thanks to you.”

Embarrassed once more, he tries to babble his way to a different subject again. “No, we were just lucky we managed to–“, he starts, but doesn’t get any further.

My hand’s already sliding to the back of his neck and he startles, but I don’t care. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice mixing with the rising wind, as I close my eyes and touch his lips in one long, gentle kiss, harboring all my relief, my happiness, my gratitude, and everything else that makes my heart feel so light in this sweet, bright full moon night.

And right here, right now, high up on the watch tower, with the cold breeze tugging at our clothes and hair, unexpectedly, his lips start moving against mine.

His surprising reaction gives me a sting in the heart for a second. And for a moment I’m the one freezing in shock. It’s a clumsy kiss in a way, hesitant and wary, but it is heartfelt, and all of a sudden, there’s a surge of warmth spreading from my heart to every fiber of my body, washing over me like a force of nature. An unexpected feeling, but it’s sweeping me off my feet nevertheless. And before I even knew it, I’m melting against his kiss, as awkward as it may be, feeling shivers run down my spine.

And there it is again, that thought crossing my mind, the thought of the common flower that’s all the more precious because it grows in the wasteland. It makes me sad and grateful at the same time, grateful that I’m the lucky voyager to come across it in the middle of the desert.

A bit unsure at first whether to guide him or to give him a bit more freedom to find his own way, I’m surprised how quickly we synchronize just like that, as if we were meant to be all along. A strange feeling too, recognizing so much of myself in the way he kisses me – whereas I’d read his non-reaction for simple lethargy, turns out he’s apparently been studying my every move very thoroughly. So here I am, caught by surprise once more.

It’s a slow and gentle kiss, long and lingering, and when we finally do break away, I notice my heart racing.

I open my eyes again, gazing into his. He actually has very beautiful deep blue eyes. How come I never noticed? I wonder what else I’ve been blind to before. I want to know him, suddenly more than ever before.

The expression on his face seems stern but also a little troubled, as if he couldn’t believe it himself he just did that.

I smile at him reassuringly, then can’t help cracking a grin. “Who would have guessed, it’s actually alive…” I tease him with a goofy smirk, taking in every detail of his face, of his movements, as he looks back at me with mock-huff.

“Oh, give me a break!” is all he replies, but his words are in such stark contrast to the happiness and warmth that suddenly shine in his eyes.

“A break?” I counter, bringing my lips close to his once more. “And I was hoping we were just getting started…”

I spot a tiny smile of appreciation curving his lips, but at that moment I’m already leaning in to him once more, catching his lips for a second time.

And this time, he returns the kiss immediately, and I even feel his hand on my shoulder, softly pulling me closer. A pleasant feeling of euphoria spreads through me once more – this is the first time, I think, the first time he’s ever actively initiated a touch between us – and no, I won’t count that time when he wrestled me to the ground to choke me, haha…

No, seriously though. Isn’t it strange, the places we end up sometimes… Two months ago, I was this close to putting a bullet through his brain. One month ago, that bullet ended up in his father’s head. One week ago, I took his breath with an unexpected kiss. Today he’s taking mine with one.

I catch myself smiling against his lips. So here we are.

I’ve always felt some kind of bond connecting us, some kind of shared fate. Whether this was a good thing or a bad thing, I couldn’t have known. Now I think I do. We are the same, he and I, in a way: two lost, troubled souls, constantly struggling to find their place in the world. And if our roles had been reversed, we might well have both ended up exactly like the other: If he’d been forced to live with this absolute invisibility that had been my constant companion for as long as I can remember, he might have ended up stoned in that abandoned church as well. And if my parents had treated a bottle of whiskey with greater care than their own kids, I might have ended up killing innocent people in the basement of an abandoned military outpost as well. In the end it’s just random fate that put us in our places. We’d both died in our Old Worlds, way before the apocalypse even hit. We were both reborn in the New One.

Maybe my rebirth had been more cleansing than his. Maybe in the New World the one thing he’s always been craving for still wasn’t his. But there is good in him, I’ve seen it. I’ve _felt_ it. That part of him is buried deep within his soul, but it’s not lost forever. I want to retrieve it. If I can, I want to help him heal.

I’ve found a flower in the desert, now I want to make it bloom.

 

Eventually we make our way down the watch tower, carefully taking step by step, reaching one landing after the other.

With that pleasant feeling of bliss in my heart, I let my gaze wander across the festival: There’s Alex wearing some funny cowboy hat, singing on a makeshift stage, and Liam tapping his toes to the sound of his guitar as if he were the most professional musician around. It’s a famous rock song they’re performing, and I haven’t heard it in a long time. Music like that as well seems from an entirely different life. That’s why it’s so good to hear it. Repeating the refrain once more, Alex encourages us to _take her hand and we’ll make it, she swears_. And for a moment I think if that’s all it took, the world would have been a better place all along.

Close by, I spot Alicia – her bad foot resting on a chair – in the middle of mock-pummeling Jake for a joke he just made. Then there’s Paul holding a glass of water and clinking with his wife’s and children’s as if it were champagne.

And there’s my mom standing on the side with Coop and Mrs. Franks, deep in conversation, pointing at various places across the ranch, with Coop nodding.

Accidentally, she spots us descending the watch tower and for a second, her eyes meet mine. I have no idea what she’s thinking right now, whether she feels that something between Troy and me might have fundamentally changed or if she at least suspects. All I know is for the tiniest of seconds I think I spot her giving me a small nod.

And as my gaze wanders across the festival, this is what I realize: All of us celebrating here, we’re all connected in the New World. Everyone is fighting with everything they have for one grand wish we all share: To keep safe what we love.

And that – by all means – is not something that’s carved in stone. Before we even realize it, the number of people this applies to may already have increased.

Troy and I reach the foot of the tower and plunge into the celebrating crowd.

I take his hand and for a moment, I actually believe it: We’ll make it.

I swear.

 

* * *

 

_Please check out the beautiful illustration the amazing[Cudzinec ](https://www.deviantart.com/cudzinec/art/The-Grand-Cause-comission-748909668)has created for this chapter:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> So, what did you think? I hope you enjoyed my little story. Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving your kudos throughout the story and thank you so much for taking this journey with me :)
> 
> I do have some ideas for a few bonus chapters in mind that may give a little glimpse into their life togehter from now on, so this chapter may not be the last you see of this story. Keep checking back once in a while if you like, there may be an update :)


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